Welcome to Cascade
by EvergreenDreamweaver
Summary: Frank and Joe Hardy travel to Cascade, Washington to visit Daryl Banks, and trouble follows!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

The stories in the series were written in 2006 and 2007. Technology does not match today's levels. Nor does airport security!

 **Welcome to Cascade**

A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Talefeathers

Chapter 1

Joe Hardy groaned softly as he edged down the narrow aisle of the jumbo jetliner. "Wouldja look at this?" he groused to his brother Frank, who was close behind him. "We're stuck right in the middle of the five-seats-across section!...Excuse me...sorry, excuse me...sorry, ma'am..." he continued, making hasty apologies as he inadvertently banged people with his carry-on bag. With an exasperated sigh, he stopped at their row of seats and located an overhead bin to put the duffle in, then edged into the row. He settled himself into the inadequate seat and shoved a lock of thick blonde hair out of his eyes, gazing around with ill-concealed irritation.

"And we're gonna be stuck in here for eight hours!" he lamented, as Frank, having stashed his own carry-on luggage, slithered his lean body into the seat beside him.

"No we're not," the elder Hardy contradicted him, pushing back his dark hair in a gesture eerily similar to Joe's, "We've got a layover in Minneapolis."

"Just enough time to walk around and get the kinks out, and then back in this sardine can!" Joe grumbled. "This HOT sardine can...wish they'd turn the AC on! Tell me again why we're flying to the West Coast in August?"

Frank surveyed him calmly. "We'll, I'M going because I want to see Daryl again, and Blair and Detective Ellison," he said. He paused, considering his words with a grin. "I wonder why it's 'Blair' rather than 'Detective Sandburg,' but not 'Jim?'" he mused. "Anyway, they were nice enough to ask us to visit them. I thought that was why you were going, too."

Joe sighed. "It is," he conceded. "I do want to see them, and I want to visit Cascade. And I dunno why it's 'Blair' rather than using his title; it just seems to fit him better. Besides, didn't he ask us to call him Blair...? But all that aside, it's a darned long flight!"

"At least we make up time," Frank reminded him, trying to be encouraging. "Three hours! We land early afternoon, Pacific time."

"Yeah..." Joe didn't sound very convinced, but he subsided and picked up the airline magazine from the seat pocket, starting to leaf through it. Frank settled himself as comfortably as possible in the narrow seat and slid his headphones and portable CD player from the small backpack he'd kept with him. Once he had it going to his satisfaction, he let his eyes close, and relaxed, listening to the music.

The plane continued to fill with more and more persons traveling from the East Coast to the West, and soon the Hardys were flanked on both sides with their fellow-passengers. On Frank's left was a middle-aged couple who smiled briefly at him and said 'hello,' then left him alone; the woman immersing herself in a paperback book, and the man doing as Frank had done and donning a pair of headphones connected to a CD player. The seat between Joe and the other aisle remained empty, and Joe was starting to hope that whoever was booked into it had missed the flight. He really wanted that extra leg-room and seat room! But just as he was allowing himself to believe his good fortune, a slenderly-built, well-dressed man of medium height sat down beside him and slid a narrow briefcase beneath the seat in front of him.

"Hi." Joe summoned up a smile, trying to be polite despite his disappointment over losing the extra seat. "You just made it!"

"Uh-huh." The man nodded as he fastened his seat belt. He had light brown hair and hazel eyes, and was wearing a summer-weight suit. "The shuttle flight from Boston was late."

"You going to Seattle?" Joe tried for a bit of get-acquainted conversation before they took off.

"No, Cascade. Business trip," the man replied.

"Gee, so are we – me and my brother." Joe indicated the oblivious Frank. "Not on a business trip," he qualified, "just to visit some friends. I'm Joe Hardy, and he's Frank."

"Andrew Martin," the other supplied his own name. "Have you been to Cascade before?"

"No, this is our first time. You?"

"Yes, I've been there a couple of times – not recently."

Further conversation was halted, as the captain's voice came over the speakers, welcoming them aboard the flight. By the time all the announcements, safety instructions, and other information was done, and they were aloft, Mr. Martin had pulled some papers out of his briefcase and was studying them intently. Joe, deciding not to bother the man further, returned his attention to the crossword puzzle in the flight magazine.

###

Their stopover in Minneapolis, as Joe had predicted, merely gave them time enough to get into the terminal, grab something to eat while they walked around, and head back to the plane to re-embark. Having experienced what passed for meals on airlines, both boys stocked up on munchies for the rest of the flight to Cascade.

Mr. Martin either had not left the boarding area or had been gone only a minimal amount of time, for he was already in his seat when Frank and Joe returned to theirs. The couple on the other side of Frank had gotten off in Minneapolis, and to the older Hardy's delight, the seats were now empty.

"Hey, if these don't fill up, I can move over to the aisle – and then you can move over one, and we all can have more room," Frank proposed.

Joe nodded emphatically. "That's a great idea!" Gently tapping Mr. Martin's shoulder, he explained their plan.

"I'd appreciate it," Martin acknowledged with a brief smile. "I'm only 5'9" and I'm cramped – I don't see how you two boys can stand it!" As Joe moved over a seat, Martin took off his suit coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves to the elbow. "Warm in here," the man commented, returning his attention to his papers again.

Joe noticed with a slight smile that their seatmate had evidently done a little shopping during their layover; the man now had a good-sized bag of circular red-and-white-striped peppermint candies which he was sucking on, popping one after another into his mouth. _Hope he's got good dental coverage, if he eats those a lot!_ the younger Hardy thought to himself, then shrugged. The state of the man's teeth was not his concern. He took out the spy thriller he'd picked up in a gift shop and opened it to the first page.

Half an hour later, when the flight attendants came around with beverages and packages of salted nuts, Joe took advantage of the interruption to look a little more closely at the 'Peppermint Man,' as he had taken to calling Mr. Martin in his head. The man was still immersed in his paperwork, reading through what looked like a lengthy contract with great attention to detail – giving the curious Joe an opportunity to study him without being obvious about it. _After all, Dad's always telling us to pay attention to details...might as well get some practice at it!_

Mr. Martin was nearly as 'ordinary' in appearance as the Network's Arthur Gray, Joe decided. Light brown hair cut short, hazel eyes under dark brows. The bridge of his nose had just the slightest bump, indicating that it might have been broken at some point in time. With his sleeves rolled up, an expensive-looking gold wristwatch was visible on his left wrist – and Joe noticed a long, thin scar crossing the inside of his other wrist, the right.

He cast an oblique look at Martin, wondering if the man had possibly attempted suicide at some point in time. Of course, a person could get a scar like that from a lot of things...Well, it wasn't really any of his business – just an interesting detail to remember! A scar, a slightly 'off' nose and a vast quantity of peppermints! Chuckling to himself, Joe decided he'd done enough practicing, and returned to his spy novel.

#####

"Wow, look at the water!"

"No, look at the mountains!"

The Hardys commented in hushed voices, murmuring to each other beneath the drone of the jet engines as they neared their destination. Looking one way, they could see the Cascade Mountains behind them; looking the other, Puget Sound sparkled in the distance, under the bright afternoon sun.

"Wow." Frank settled back in his seat with a smile. "I don't remember it being so pretty, when we were here before."

"We were here in the wintertime," Joe reminded him. "And it seems like we were always running around outside at night. Couldn't see anything. Besides, we were down near Seattle, not up this far north."

He glanced over at Mr. Martin, wondering if the businessman was admiring the view as well – but no, he was still poring over papers and eating his peppermint candy, seemingly ignoring the entrancing spectacle below them. Well, he'd said he had been here before, after all, so it wasn't like it was a new thing. With a mental shrug, Joe dismissed Andrew Martin from his mind and began gathering up his book, magazines and snacks.

Frank did the same thing. Both of them wanted to be off the plane as quickly as possible. Daryl Banks had promised to meet them in the airport, and they didn't want to make him wait any longer than necessary.

"Suppose Daryl's changed much?" Frank asked now, zipping his backpack closed and stuffing it back under the seat as the expected announcement about stowing all bags and 'returning seats to the upright position' came over the loudspeaker.

"It's only been five months – about the only change would be if he'd either cut all his hair off or let it grow," Joe hazarded. "I mean, it's not likely he's gotten much taller, or anything. After all, WE haven't changed!"

Frank laughed. "I guess you're right – but I feel like I've changed, since I graduated from high school. And so has Daryl, remember."

"I remember," his brother replied glumly. Frank heading off to college was starting to be a sore point for Joe. Even though he was staying in Bayport and attending the university there, it still made things...different. Joe knew it was inevitable – but he wasn't sure he _liked_ it!

They waited impatiently while the plane landed, while it taxied to the terminal, while the pilot jockeyed it into place and the Jetway was connected; when the doors were finally opened, the Hardys were among the first to be on their feet and moving down the aisle. They hurried out the door, barely acknowledging the flight attendants' cordial goodbyes, and strode quickly through the Jetway to the airport proper.

"Daryl said he'd be just on the other side of the security checkpoint," Frank commented, snapping the handle out on his bag and dragging it behind him on its little wheels, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

Joe followed his brother's example with his own bags, and the two of them hurried along as rapidly as the crowds would allow.

"Joe! Frank!"

They spotted Daryl, smiling and waving in welcome, and moved quickly to join him. Once greetings were exchanged, the three boys started for the exit at a more leisurely pace.

"You're still the same," Joe noted with satisfaction. Daryl gave him a curious look, and he hastened to explain. "We were wondering if you'd changed in five months, that's all. You haven't!" The other boy was still thin and gangly with newly-acquired height, his curly hair close-cropped. Wide brown eyes sparkled in his dark face.

Daryl began to laugh. "What did you think, I'd grown dreadlocks or something? No way...and you haven't changed either."

Exiting the terminal, they headed for the towering parking structure. To the Hardys' surprise – for they had expected the August heat to be similar to Bayport's – the air was fresh, without the sticky humidity they were accustomed to. It was warm, but not oppressive.

Frank took a deep breath. "Oh, I'm liking it here already," he murmured to his brother. "Feel the difference?"

"Know what you mean," Joe whispered in reply. "It doesn't feel like a sauna here, like it does back home!"

"I brought my dad's car," Daryl explained, as they walked along, "but we're going to have to stop and drop it off for him – then either catch a lift home with someone or grab a bus. But I can take you to the house first, if you want...?" He fished a set of keys from his pocket and pushed one of the buttons. Nearby, a gold-colored Crown Victoria flashed its lights as the car alarm deactivated, and Daryl pushed another button to open the trunk for the Hardys' bags...

"I wouldn't mind going with you," Frank offered. "We might get to see Blair and Jim, and it would be fun to see where they work, anyway."

"Sure, not a problem," Joe agreed, stowing his luggage and closing the trunk lid. They climbed into the car – which, the Hardys noticed immediately, was redolent with the strong aroma of cigars.

"Okay – next stop, Cascade PD, downtown precinct," Daryl announced, and started the motor.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

The stories in the series were written in 2006 and 2007. Technology does not match today's levels. Nor does airport security!

Thank you to Sarai for the kind comment on Chapter 1!

 **Welcome to Cascade**

A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Talefeathers

Chapter 2

The Hardys weren't unfamiliar with the West Coast; they'd been to this part of the country before. But Cascade was new territory, and both boys looked about eagerly as Daryl Banks eased his father's car through traffic crowding the city streets. It reminded them of Bayport in some ways, for Cascade was a port city as well – just on a much grander scale! Puget Sound was considerably larger than Barmet Bay, after all.

Soon they were downtown, and Frank and Joe got their first look at the Cascade Police Department's Central Precinct. It was a large, modern building with sleek glass windows covering the outer walls, and an underground parking garage where Daryl sought out a particular parking place marked 'Captain Banks, Major Crimes.'

"We can just leave your stuff in the trunk for now," he told Frank and Joe as they got out of the car. "If we get a ride with someone else, or end up taking the bus, or something, we'll pick it up before we leave." He led the way to the elevator in the corner, and punched the button for the lobby. Here the Hardys presented their ID and got visitors' passes, and Daryl picked up one with his name and photo already on it; then they returned to the elevator, and Daryl pressed the button for the sixth floor.

"This is a big place!" Joe commented, noting the numerous floors. It wasn't like he and Frank hadn't been in large police stations before; they had. But this was _definitely_ one of the biggest and most complex!

"Yeah," Daryl agreed. "Cascade does most of its police work outta here – there are smaller precinct stations in the city, but downtown's definitely Action Central!"

"What exactly does Major Crimes do?" Frank asked curiously. He knew that Ellison and Sandburg were detectives in the division, and Daryl's father was the captain, but he was a little vague as to what constituted a 'major crime.'

Daryl chuckled. "Well...if you ask my dad, he'll say they serve at the whim of the Mayor," he said dryly. "I looked it up one time, and he's almost right. It said they're responsible for 'providing personnel to accompany VIPs visiting Cascade, and for solving crimes at the discretion of the commanding officer'."

"Meaning, they can be called in on just about anything," Joe commented with a grin. "Depending on what the commanding officer – and that would be your dad, right? – wants!"

"Well, Dad answers to the chief of police, and the Commissioner," Daryl qualified, "so I suppose either of them would be the commanding officer. And yeah – they get pulled in on all the stuff like terrorists, bombings, jumpers, drugs, assassination attempts...Anything and everything, but definitely all the stuff with high-risk potential."

The Hardys exchanged sobered glances. No wonder Jim Ellison's usual expression tended to be grim...his job was super high-stress.

The elevator doors slid smoothly open, revealing a squarish hallway with multiple doors leading out of it, and a large seal of the Cascade PD embedded in the floor. Daryl led the way across the hallway towards frosted-glass double doors marked 'Major Crime Division' and stepped in confidently. Frank and Joe followed him, a bit more hesitantly.

"Hi, Daryl." An attractive blonde woman seated near the doors looked up and smiled as they entered. She nodded politely to the Hardys. "I see you brought some guests."

"Hi, Rhonda – yeah, this is Frank and Joe Hardy. They're visiting from back east – Bayport, New York." He tilted his head towards the pretty blonde. "Guys, this is Rhonda, my dad's secretary...administrative assistant," he corrected, grinning. "Is it okay if I show them around a little?"

"It ought to be fine. Things are fairly quiet right now." She smiled. "You know the routine."

Frank and Joe had been looking around with undisguised interest at the room, which was filled with desks and personnel both plainclothes and uniformed. Fluorescent lights and glass windows dominated; the whole place seemed to almost pulsate with brightness, accentuated by lit computer screens and punctuated by ringing telephones and conversations. Directly opposite the entrance doors was a private office with glass windows covered by miniblinds; evidently Captain Banks' domain.

Joe nudged Frank discreetly. Frank followed his brother's gaze to a pair of adjoining desks in the right-hand corner of the room. Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg were there, Sandburg seated, Ellison leaning over his partner with his back to the door, pointing out something to him in a file folder. As they watched, the older detective abruptly turned around and looked at them – and smiled.

"Well, look who's here," he said softly, and tapped Sandburg's shoulder to alert him.

Blair looked up, saw Frank, Joe and Daryl, and a bright, welcoming smile spread over his face. He got to his feet, and both detectives moved to greet the newcomers.

"Frank – Joe, good to see you." Ellison shook hands cordially with the Hardys, and lightly smacked Daryl's shoulder.

"Did you have a good flight?" Blair inquired, also shaking hands. "What do you think of Cascade?"

"This is awesome!" Joe answered, indicating their surroundings. "And Cascade's nice!" For some reason or other, he felt like Blair was studying him without trying to let on that he was doing so, and it made the younger Hardy slightly nervous. Why would Sandburg be looking at him in that assessing manner? But before he could decide whether he was imagining things or not, Jim Ellison had draped an arm about his partner's shoulders and pulled him into a casual half-hug, and the younger detective's attention was distracted.

"Daryl – introduce us to your friends." A new voice interrupted them, and Frank and Joe turned to see several of the plainclothes detectives encircling their little group.

Daryl grinned happily and complied. "This is Frank Hardy," he began, "and his brother Joe. Guys, this is Detective Henri Brown—" he indicated a hefty black man in jeans and a violently-garish Hawaiian print shirt, with a round, friendly face, who touched a finger to his forehead in a small salute. "His partner, Detective Rafe—" This man was so unlike Detective Brown it caused the Hardys' eyebrows to rise in surprise; apparently Cascade PD thrived on unlikely partnerships! Rafe was young, white, slender, good looking enough to be a movie star, and dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit. He offered his hand to each of the brothers.

"Captain Joel Taggart," Daryl continued, presenting another large black man in a suit, who greeted them warmly and cordially shook their hands. "And Inspector Megan Connor, an exchange officer from Australia," he finished.

Joe stared in fascination at the six-foot-tall, auburn-haired beauty who was smiling at them in welcome. "Oh wow," he murmured, "talk about shock and awe...We don't have police officers like you in Bayport!"

The whole group of detectives burst into laughter, and Frank nudged his brother's ribs sharply. "Joe!" he hissed in consternation – but Inspector Connor was laughing heartily, and didn't appear to be insulted by Joe's staring or comment.

"They don't have officers like me in Cascade, either, mate; I'm one of a kind," she said in a strong Australian accent – and then shot a sharp look at Jim Ellison, who had muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'thank God.' He smiled sweetly at her.

"You forgot one, Daryl," a new voice cut in. Frank and Joe turned towards the source – and both boys felt their jaws drop just a little. This had to be Daryl's father, Captain Banks – of that, they had absolutely no doubt.

The Hardys were rarely made to feel small and insignificant; intimidation was unusual, for both were tall and strongly built. But Simon Banks definitely managed it. Standing well over six feet, he was both taller and larger in bulk than Jim Ellison. His dark hair was close-cropped, and sharp brown eyes observed them from behind gold-wire-rimmed glasses. He wore dress slacks, a white shirt, and a suit vest, a shoulder holster complete with weapon – and a forbidding expression.

Despite his demeanor, Banks was ready to welcome his son's new friends without qualification. Unknown to Daryl, the police captain had discreetly checked the Hardys out, after his son's tumultuous visit to Bayport, and liked what he learned. He was suitably impressed with their background; although he had never had dealings with Fenton Hardy, the man had a stellar record both in police work and as a private detective. And the sons – a little digging had brought to light some pretty incredible things the two of them had done, despite their youth. And if that weren't enough, both Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg had spoken highly of them – and Simon Banks valued his detectives' opinions.

"Dad – meet Frank and Joe Hardy," Daryl said now. "This is my father, Captain Simon Banks."

"Pleased to meet you, sir." Frank swallowed hard and extended a hand. He lifted his chin and met the captain's keen gaze squarely.

"Welcome to Cascade, Frank. Joe, nice to meet you." Banks' smile was surprisingly genuine and welcoming, and Frank felt himself relaxing. Maybe Captain Banks wasn't quite the formidable martinet he appeared?

"It's a pleasure, sir," Joe echoed, and received the same warm grin and firm handshake.

"Daryl's been anxiously anticipating your arrival," Banks commented, and added with a grin, "and so have Ellison and Sandburg!"

"You got that right," Blair Sandburg said.

"Dad, do you mind if we hang here for awhile and wait for you? Or should we get a cab or take the bus home?" Daryl asked, as most of the Major Crimes detectives began to move back to their desks and resume their various tasks. Only Jim and Blair remained.

Simon frowned slightly. "I don't mind you staying, son, but we've got some business to conduct – something just came up before you arrived."

"What's going on, sir?" Ellison inquired.

Banks sighed. "I just got a call from the Mayor," he rumbled with irritation. "We're being put on a special security detail for a visiting celebrity."

"Oh? Who?" Blair asked, his eyebrows going up in anticipation. "Anyone interesting?"

"Well, you might say so, Sandburg. It's the musical group Valhalla, and their front man, Thor."

"VALHALLA!" "Thor! Dad, do you mean it?" "Oh man, I thought they were coming to Seattle for a concert, not Cascade—" "Uh...who's Thor?" Excited exclamations burst from several lips; the last query was Jim Ellison's, sounding rather embarrassed as well as curious.

"Who's THOR? Jim, c'mon, man, you've gotta have heard of Thor and Valhalla!" Blair expostulated.

"Sorry, Chief, but no. But I take it the rest of you have?"

"Yeah!" The response burst from three teenaged boys at the same time.

"Dad, can you get us tickets to their concert? Do you think you could?" Daryl bubbled with excitement.

"Is there any way we could help? We've worked security before," Frank found himself offering. The thought of actually seeing Valhalla and its famous lead singer, Thor, was tremendously exciting.

"It's security for the concert?" Joe asked, and was surprised to see Simon Banks shake his head.

"Not just the concert," the captain replied. "There's a black-tie fund-raising reception tomorrow night – evidently this Thor person is heavily into raising money to lobby for outlawing seal hunting, and it's not a completely popular cause, especially in the countries that do it. One of which is actually his home country of Norway! He's apparently received some threats in other cities on their concert tour. Anyway, for whatever reason – maybe the politicos pulled some strings – they've added Cascade to the tour at the last minute. I guess they had a couple free days between appearances. We've been tapped to provide security for the reception and for the concert as well." He looked keenly at his best detective team. "Jim, this is right up your alley, so I'm requesting that you be in charge."

Ellison groaned. "Simon...sir. Tuxedos? Little headphones and concealed mikes? Society matrons! Socialites!" He groaned again. "Fancy _hors d'oeuvres_?" Another heartfelt groan. "And a ROCK CONCERT?"

"Aw, Jim..." Blair patted his partner's back consolingly. "You look really, really good in a tux, man – and most _hors d'oeuvres_ are great, you know that! And maybe you'll like the rock concert, you never know. Anyway, we'll deal." He grinned at their captain. "He'll be happy to, sir."

"Sandburg!"

Blair winked. "He will."

"SANDBURG! I will NOT be HAPPY ABOUT IT!' Ellison lowered his voice and heaved a pathetic sigh. "But I'll do it, of course, Captain," he finished.

Banks was having difficulty keeping his chuckles under control; the boys and the rest of the detectives in the bullpen weren't even attempting it. "Thank you, Detective. I'll leave it in your capable hands," he said, and retreated to his office,

"Jim, do you think we could go to the Valhalla concert?" Daryl pleaded. Since his father had departed the scene, he went for the next best bet, the new head of concert security.

"How would I know?" Ellison said. "I only heard about this five minutes ago, remember?" He glared down at his partner, who was making no attempt to keep the wide smile from his face. "You could look a little more sympathetic, you know," he growled.

"Hey, I happen to like Valhalla," Sandburg defended himself. "And I think Thor's efforts to raise money for fighting against hunting seals are great, Jim!"

"It's those pictures of the little white fuzzy babies, isn't it?" Jim sighed. "Just who IS Valhalla, anyway?" he added. If he was stuck with this idiocy, he wanted to have some idea what he was in for.

"They're a Scandinavian group," Blair explained. "From Norway. Hence the name Valhalla, and Thor. And they're VERY popular, world-wide."

Jim cringed. "Scandinavian? Like ABBA?"

His partner began to laugh. "ABBA was Swedish, not Norwegian. And they're pretty far from ABBA, musically speaking. A lot harder-edged. But still, you might like them, Jim, really!"

"Yeah, yeah..." Jim heaved one last 'pity-me' sigh, and moved towards his desk to get started on his new assignment. "Come on, we've got work to do, Junior."

"Jim—" Frank stepped forward, one hand extended. "I meant it – is there some way Joe and I can help? We have worked security before – and at rock concerts."

"That's right," Joe corroborated, "We'd be glad to pitch in..."

Ellison eyed them dubiously. "I don't like involving civilians in police work," he said flatly.

Beside him, Blair went into a coughing fit – an obviously _fake_ coughing fit. "That's right, Jim – keep those civilians in the truck...* _cough...cough*_ ," he said, grinning.

The rest of the Major Crimes personnel within earshot were laughing too, as was Daryl, and Ellison flushed pink. He whapped his chortling partner lightly on the back of the head.

"Shut up, Sandburg."

Not quite understanding the joke, but smiling anyway, the Hardys waited, hopefully Jim surveyed them thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.

"There's no way you can attend the reception," he said at last. "I assume you didn't bring dress clothes along with you, and Simon said it was black-tie. Besides, you're too young. Even in tuxes you'd stick out like sore thumbs, and there goes the low profile we're trying to maintain."

"But the concert...?" Joe prodded eagerly.

"I'll think about it," Ellison half-promised. "You'd fit right in with the roadies and set-up crew, better than most police personnel. Let me do some work on it first, though, and see if we can swing it. You too, Daryl," he added with a smile, "IF it works out."

"Yesssssssss!" Joe and Daryl exchanged elated high-fives; Frank grinned with satisfaction. If Jim Ellison said he'd try to get them in on this, Frank was sure they were as good as in already.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

The stories in the series were written in 2006 and 2007. Technology does not match today's levels. Nor does airport security!

Thank you, Sarai!

 **Welcome to Cascade**

A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Talefeathers

Chapter 3

"Jim, you keep grinding your teeth like that, you're gonna be in the dentist's office all next week while they try to repair your cracked molars."

Jim gave his partner a malevolent look. "You're enjoying this," he accused.

"Hey, I don't mind dressing up," Blair preened a little, smoothing down his satiny vest. "And you gotta admit, you look damned sharp in a tux yourself."

"What's the way I look in a tux have to do with anything?"

"Nothing, I suppose," Sandburg admitted, "I'm just trying to find some positives, man!"

Jim chuckled unwillingly. _Trust Blair to look on the bright side_. He looked around the spacious Cascade Convention Center ballroom at the glittering crowd of socialites dressed in their finest.

His keen eyes picked out the members of his security team one by one: Rafe, looking entirely at home in his tuxedo, lounging nonchalantly near the punch bowl and making light conversation with elegantly-attired dowagers – who were nearly _cooing_ over the handsome police officer with the exquisite manners. Brown, who was pacing about the central hall outside the ballroom, surprisingly sleek and polished. Megan Connor, on Captain Banks' arm, looking anything _but_ a police detective in her low-cut, slinky dark green evening gown, her auburn hair a cascade of curls atop her head. Jim decided she must be carrying her weapon in her tiny gold-lamé purse, and momentarily wondered what caliber gun would fit in the little receptacle! Joel Taggart, looking like a well-dressed teddy bear. Several of the uniforms from Major Crimes, oddly unfamiliar in their formal wear, but blending in unobtrusively as well.

 _Everything's going okay...so far._

The guest of honor, Thor – whose real name was Kjetil Hakonsen – or the rest of his group, Valhalla – hadn't appeared yet. Ellison understood the technique involved – keep the audience waiting – but still, it irked him. This wasn't a concert, and these people were spending a lot of money to support Thor's cause. It seemed to the detective that the singer ought to make the effort to acknowledge it a little better! He was also surprised at the large turnout, considering that this reception had essentially been an impromptu affair, with very little warning. _I suppose the rich and influential can always find time to dress up and come to a party..._

"Think your dad will be here?" Blair inquired now, surprising Jim out of his cynical thoughts.

"He might be, at that," Ellison conceded, "although as far as I know, he's never been into rock stars! Or saving seals. I saw Stephen, though," he added, meaning his younger brother, who was following in William Ellison's footsteps and was on his way to becoming one of the more prominent businessmen in Cascade – as their father already was.

"He wouldn't have to be into rock stars, just one of the more important people in the city," Blair observed. "With money. And you gotta admit, he is that!"

"Yeah." Ellison resumed scanning the crowd closely, and felt his partner's hand warm against the small of his back, as Sandburg unobtrusively grounded him. After a moment or two, the Sentinel relaxed, letting his hearing and vision return to normal. He smiled down at Blair. "Thanks," he said softly.

"Everything okay?"

"For the moment – but after all, Thor isn't here yet!"

#####

"D'ya think we'll get to see him?"

"No telling...but from what I know about famous people, they tend to use back doors whenever possible."

Joe, Frank and Daryl had stationed themselves directly across the street from the rear entrance to the Cascade Convention Center, and were lounging against a parked car, digital cameras close at hand. They were not alone; at least a hundred people had had the same idea. There were similar crowds surrounding each exit from the building, but the Hardys and Daryl were betting on Thor using this back door.

"Has your dad said anything about whether or not we can go to the concert yet? Or help with security?" Frank asked now.

Daryl shook his head. "No...but after all, he assigned it to Jim, so he might not know. I mean, he'll know the general plan, but he leaves the details to whoever's in charge."

Joe sighed impatiently. "Shouldn't he be here by now?"

"Big-name stars always want to make an entrance...and that means being at least 45 minutes late," Frank said sagely.

Joe wasn't the only one voicing his displeasure; other people in the crowd were grumbling as well. Many of them had been in place for hours already, hoping for a glimpse of the famous singer and his bandmates.

"Well, nothing yet," Daryl sighed. "Bet Dad and Jim and the rest of the guys are feeling like they're wasting a lot of time, hanging around in there."

"At least they get to eat the _hors d'oeuvres_!" Joe said enviously. "I'm hungry!"

Suddenly a ripple of excitement went through the crowd, as a black limousine with dark-tinted windows moved slowly into the alleyway. The Hardys and Daryl stood up straight in anticipation, cameras pulled from their pockets. The limo pulled up directly in front of the door, and a burly man dressed in black jumped out of the front passenger seat. He scowled at the hovering fans, waving them back.

"Bodyguard," Frank murmured – and snapped his picture anyway. Even Thor's bodyguard was of interest.

A moment later the back door of the car opened, and screams of delight heralded the emergence of a long, lithe figure in dress clothes: Thor himself, blonde hair streaming halfway down his back and his eyes concealed by dark glasses. He grinned and waved, then ducked his head and strode quickly towards the door. Cameras flashed continuously, creating a strobe-light effect. His guard stayed right behind him, shielding him from the enthusiastic crowd, and the two disappeared into the building.

No other members of Valhalla appeared; apparently Thor was the only one attending the soirée. The chauffeur got out and closed the limo's doors, then resumed his seat and drove out of the alley. The crowd parted reluctantly to let the big vehicle pass.

"Didja get any good shots?" Daryl slipped his camera into his pocket.

"Well, he had his head ducked down most of the time, but I may have gotten a couple," Joe said with satisfaction. "So now what? Do we stick around and wait for him to come back out, or what?"

"Sounds like a lot of waiting for probably nothing," Frank demurred.

"Do we have anything better to do?" Joe demanded. He lifted his camera high and took a few random shots of the crowd of fans still milling around in the alley.

"Let's go over to the Torpid Turtle and grab something to eat," Daryl suggested. "It's only a block or so, and then we can come back and wait for Thor to come out."

"The Torpid Turtle?" Frank repeated, amused by the name.

"Yeah, it's a restaurant/sports bar. Good food, reasonable prices. Come on." Daryl turned and led the way.

"I hope the name doesn't mean they pride themselves on slow service..." Joe trailed behind the two older boys, taking an occasional picture as they walked along.

#####

Inside the Convention Center, the tumult had increased exponentially when Thor entered the place; evidently the baby boomer generation was as enthusiastic about the singer as his younger fans grouped outside. Striving to keep a watch for any possible threat, Jim Ellison felt himself becoming overwhelmed by the sheer volume, with the additional stress of a myriad of scents and visual stimuli emanating from the crowd. He shook his head in frustrated irritation, trying by sheer force of will to combat the sensory assault, at the same time knowing that wasn't the answer to the problem.

"Concentrate on me for a minute, Jim." The low voice cut through the uproar, and Ellison sighed in relief. Miraculously, Blair was beside him again, appearing out of the crowd like the reply to an unspoken prayer. Jim couldn't begin to explain how his Guide managed to know he was needed; it was just something that Blair _did_ , time and time again. "Take some deep breaths and get settled before you try to start filtering again."

The Sentinel obeyed, visualizing dials that had begun to spiral upwards. He wrenched them down to below normal for a brief period, then inched them back up, at the same time filtering out scents and sounds one by one and dismissing them once they were identified.

"Ecccchhhh..." He shuddered slightly, and felt Blair's arm tighten a little around him. "Way too many perfumes and colognes. Bad as those perfume shops you dragged me to, way back when!" Both men smiled, remembering their very first casework together.

"Anything out of the ordinary?"

"No – not that I notice. Well, yes and no," Ellison amended with a tight smile. "There's been some use of not-tobacco, but they kept it outside with the rest of the cigarette smokers, and we're not here to bust wealthy users of marijuana tonight anyway."

The crowd was settling down now. Thor was doing the rounds, being charming as he was introduced to wealthy and influential Cascadians. The long blonde hair and his height and slender build made him stand out, even in the large group of people. His hulking bodyguard remained close to him, and Jim noted that Simon and Megan had unobtrusively drifted closer to the rock star – as had Rafe. Joel was near the main exit door, and Henri was still in the outer hall.

"You okay now?" Blair was still rubbing his partner's back gently.

"Yeah, I'm good. Go do your job." With an affectionate smile and a gentle tug on his ponytail, Jim dismissed the younger man. "If you spot anything, give a yell."

Blair nodded and moved off toward the knot of people surrounding Thor.

###

When he felt he had circulated enough and shaken enough peoples' hands, the famous singer moved towards the front of the big room, where a small platform complete with microphone had been set up.

Jim glanced around, catching the attention of his various security people with his eyes. If Thor was about to start in on his speech and fundraising appeal, this might be the logical time for any attacks to be made. He wanted everyone involved to be alert and on their toes.

"Good efening, ladies and gentlemen..." The softly-accented voice came through the microphone clearly as Thor launched into his spiel. Immediately everyone quieted to listen to him. "I am Thor, and I sing with the rock band Valhalla. You may have heard of us." A ripple of laughter and some applause went through the group. "We are in your beautiful city of Cascade to perform tomorrow night – but I am here tonight to ask you for help in a little project I am interested in – and that is stopping the killing of seals."

He cleared his throat before continuing. "When I was a small child, growing up in Norway, seal hunting and harvesting was simply part of life, such as your timber harvests are, here. It never occurred to me to question it. Then, one summer I went with my family on a holiday on the coast of Ireland. It was there that I had my first experience with seals...up close and personal, as they say."

Thor paused for a moment, smiling whimsically at the crowd, which was hanging on his every syllable. "There were seals that would come near the shore," he continued at last, "and did not seem to be afraid of a small boy. Not the same seals as live further north, but seals, nonetheless. I decided they must want to be friends, and proceeded to try and play with them, in the only way I knew how. Assuming that if they were seals, they would like to play with rubber balls, I asked my mother to get me some. When she did, I took them down to the water's edge and when a seal ventured near, I would throw a ball to it, hoping that it would do as circus seals do, and bat it back to me!"

More laughter erupted, and Thor joined in, gently ridiculing his younger self. "Of course, not being trained seals, they had absolutely no interest in playing ball with me, although once one did take one of the balls and swim away with it. And my mother wisely refused to buy me any more rubber balls to throw into the sea!

"But from that time on, I had an abiding interest in seals..."

Jim watched the crowd, rather than paying attention to the rock star's words. He was on high alert, keeping his senses dialed as far up as possible without overloading, watching for something – anything – which might signal some sort of attack.

A familiar scent caught his attention, and he jerked his head around sharply. Blending subtly with all the other fragrances, just barely there – gun oil. And somehow, intuitively, Ellison knew it wasn't gun oil from _his_ weapon, or Conner's, or anyone else's from the police security team. There was something else mixed in with it...

Blessing Blair Sandburg's teachings, the Sentinel honed in on the scent, following to the source – and then he did that other trick that Blair had suggested so long ago, and 'piggybacked' sight onto scent, zooming his vision in to focus tightly on his target.

 _There_! A semi-automatic pistol with a silencer attached! He couldn't see the shooter, only the gun and a black-gloved hand and black coat sleeve rising slowly upwards – towards an unsuspecting Kjetil Hakonsen. Jim Ellison flung himself forward desperately.

"SHOOTER! EVERYBODY GET DOWN!"


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

The stories in the series were written in 2006 and 2007. Technology does not match today's levels. Nor does airport security!

Thank you, Sarai, for your continued reading and comments.

 **Welcome to Cascade**

A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Talefeathers

Chapter 4

Even as he launched himself towards the gunman, Jim Ellison knew he wasn't close enough; knew he couldn't get there in time to stop the assault. The best he could possibly do was alter the aim...

Ellison was well aware that if the bullet went _up_ , there was a chance of ricochet and someone getting hit by a slug – but if it went down, it was almost _certain_ that someone would get hit. He dived forward, his hands outstretched and clasped together tightly, and slammed them upward underneath that extended arm – just as a soft _pop!_ and then a second one, signaled the silenced weapon's discharge.

Although loud to the Sentinel's ears, the sounds were unheard by most of the crowd – which had exploded into screaming pandemonium at Jim's warning shout. The detective made a grab at the shooter's arm, but missed, and his momentum sent him down flat on the floor, where he was nearly trampled by a suddenly panicked group of people. He swore, scrambling ungracefully back to his feet and looking wildly about, trying to spot the assailant – to no avail. Whoever it had been had melted into the throng and disappeared.

He could hear Simon's distinctive bellow over the cacophony, yelling for exits to be sealed – but it was already too late; people were clawing their way out the doors despite police and staff efforts to contain them – guilty and innocent alike.

Pulling his gun from the back holster concealed by his dinner jacket, Ellison spun about to see if either of the shots had found its mark. His gaze focused in on a small cluster of people beside the dais, and recognized several members of Major Crimes huddled about... _someone_...who was sitting on the edge of the little platform. He was just about to start making his way through the crush of people to join his colleagues when his arm was seized.

"We're all going to be killed! They'll massacre everyone! You're a police officer, aren't you? DO SOMETHING!" A heavyset matron with silver-blonde hair arranged in an elaborate coiffure was gripping him desperately with one red-taloned hand.

"Ma'am, if you – I have to—" Vainly, Jim tried to free himself from the babbling socialite.

"What if he's still here, just waiting for another chance...?"

Before Ellison could make another attempt at disengaging his arm, a familiar voice cut through the woman's hysteria.

"Belinda, for God's sake, quit the damned caterwauling! No one was trying to do anything to YOU! You're not in the slightest danger. Now shut up, and let the detective do his job."

The society matron gasped in shock. Jim turned his head sharply, and beheld the speaker standing behind him – a man nearly his equal in height with iron-gray hair, glasses and a mustache, dressed in evening clothes; his eyes gleaming and a sardonic grin etched on his narrow features.

An answering smile lit the detective's eyes. "Hi."

With an affronted huff, the woman let go of Jim's arm and stomped away through the crowd, muttering balefully to herself.

"Thanks, Dad. I owe you," Jim continued, indicating the departing socialite with a tilt of his head.

"I've wanted to tell her to shut up for years," William Ellison said with malicious candor. "I couldn't pass up the opportunity!" His mocking smile faded. "Are you all right, Jimmy? What just happened, anyway?"

"Assassination attempt," Jim said briefly. "We were on the lookout for it, but..." He sighed. "And I'm fine, Dad. But I do have things to do, so..."

"So go do them," the elder Ellison said. "Good to see you, Jimmy. Tell Blair hello for me." He touched his son lightly on the arm and stepped away, disappearing into the excited throng of party-goers.

Jim hurriedly threaded through the crush of people and made his way to the platform. Simon was there, his height and the slight elevation making him stand out above the rest. He was barking orders into a cell phone, and addressing officers surrounding him, at the same time. Additional police presence was being called for, as well as paramedics.

As he neared the Major Crimes group, Jim's nostrils flared slightly as he picked up the unmistakable coppery tang of blood. He felt his heart tighten in his chest with worry; _Blair_ had been one of the detectives closest to Thor...If his partner had been hit, trying to protect the singer...He shoved between two elaborately-gowned women and got a clear view – and heaved a sigh of guilty relief.

Thor was seated on the edge of the dais, his dress jacket off. Megan Connor knelt before him, winding a white linen dinner napkin around his left forearm. Blair and Joel Taggart hovered protectively; Joel scanning the crowd and Blair offering soothing murmurs. The singer's massive bodyguard loomed over him, scowling ferociously at everyone.

Ellison could hear phrases, both English and Norwegian – he assumed – as Thor bewailed the occurrence.

" _Helvete! Han skjøt meg!_ Can't believe...OW! _Forbanner_...damn it, that hurts! _Å min Gud,_ this is...ouch!"

"Believe me, man, I know exactly how you feel," Blair commiserated. "But it's not bad, really. You'll be just fine." He looked up as Jim approached, and overwhelming relief shone in his eyes. "Jim! Oh man, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"I almost had him," Jim griped. "But he got away in the crush."

"Anything?" Captain Banks demanded, pausing in his phone conversation.

Ellison shrugged. "A guy. All I really saw was a black coat sleeve and a gloved hand. And the gun and silencer." Something teased at his sense memory – some elusive aroma, that had mixed with the gun-oil scent, sharp and sweet...but he couldn't quite pin it down. And he couldn't be absolutely positive that the odor was associated with the gunman, and not someone else in the crowd, anyhow...

"This is your fault!" the bodyguard burst out angrily. "If you had decent security measures—"

"SVEN! No!" Surprisingly, Thor came to the Cascade police's defense, his head jerking up, his long blonde hair swinging. His blue eyes snapped as he stared down the hulking man hovering over him. "They did everything they possibly could. If I go out in crowds, I take the risk." He looked down at his arm, where Connor was still keeping pressure on the wound. "This...this is nothing. But it hurts," he added ruefully.

Emergency medical personnel swept into the room at that moment, and the police officers turned their injured guest over to the attentions of the paramedics.

#####

The Hardys and Daryl Banks had returned from their foray to the Torpid Turtle, pleasantly well-fed and ready to take up their vigil once more. Even though Jim had semi-promised that they might get to attend the Valhalla concert, perhaps even help with security, they didn't want to forego any chances at seeing the famous rock stars, or get candid pictures of them.

The back alley was still crowded, although less so than it had been before; evidently word had gone out that only Thor had entered the building, and none of his bandmates were around; therefore, only the most diehard fans had lingered to wait for his departure.

While waiting the three boys chatted idly, continuing the conversation they'd started in the restaurant.

"So, you're staying in Bayport to go to college, then?" Daryl asked.

"Mmm-hmmm." Frank hitched himself up on the hood of a conveniently-situated SUV, putting himself a couple feet higher than the rest of the crowd. "I wouldn't have minded getting away – but Bayport U's the obvious choice for saving money. I can live at home, after all, and just commute to classes."

"Yeah...I coulda done that with Rainier," Daryl agreed, "but..."

"But you don't pass up a full ride at Duke!" Joe pointed out.

"Exactly what my dad said," Daryl admitted. "Although...I almost gave it up and just entered the police academy. That's what I want to do anyway – be a cop, like Dad!"

"What made you change your mind?" Joe asked, as he rapidly scanned through his photos and deleted some to clear out space on the card.

"Jim and Blair," the dark-skinned youth said with a reminiscent smile. "They sat me down one evening and hammered from both sides. They kept telling me that having a college education would make me a better cop – and that I could probably test out of half the courses at the Academy anyway, especially if I majored in Crim. Jus...and pointed to Blair as an example. Jim reminded me that I'd start at a much higher pay rate with a degree." He grinned. "And Blair kept saying 'you've got the scholarship, man – don't give it up! Ask me about paying off student loans...just ask!' I decided they made a lot of sense." He paused, considering it for a moment. "You know, I don't think anyone could outlast those two if they decided to talk you into something! Blair argues you to death and Jim just sits and stares at you until you give in from fright!"

The Hardys laughed appreciatively.

"I'm sorta glad Frank's staying in Bayport," Joe admitted. "I'd kind of miss him if he wasn't around underfoot."

"Underfoot?" his older brother repeated in disbelief. "Since when am I under your feet?"

Joe just chuckled and went back to deleting bad photos.

###

The group waiting around the back door was dwindling as more time passed, but the boys didn't want to give up. They were, however, getting tired and a bit bored, and conversation had lagged.

"Wonder when it'll be over?" Joe speculated, checking his wristwatch.

"Gotta be pretty soon," Daryl hazarded a guess – also looking at his watch.

Frank opened his mouth to comment, but before any words emerged, they were startled to hear screams and shrieks coming from inside the Convention Center.

"Wow, I didn't know those old guys could yell like that," Daryl marveled. "Wonder what Thor did that got 'em so excited?"

The screams didn't diminish, and perhaps 30 seconds later the door burst open and a wave of panicked people in formal dress streamed through. Daryl and Joe clambered hastily atop the SUV hood beside Frank to avoid getting knocked to the ground.

"Shooter! Somebody shot at Thor!"

"There's a murderer loose in there!"

"We're all going to be killed!"

"Get out of my WAY!"

Some impulse or other made Frank leap to his feet, balancing precariously on the car hood, and begin taking photos as rapidly as his camera would allow. More and more people came running out of the building, and the elder Hardy kept his finger on the shutter button, depressing it again and again. He didn't bother trying to zoom in or focus – just kept snapping pictures.

Joe looked at him curiously for a second or two, then pulled out his own camera and activated the video option, panning back and forth to capture the frenzied scene.

Daryl, meanwhile, was sitting on the car hood, stunned. All he could think of was that his father and the other detectives of Major Crimes – essentially his extended family – were in that building with a bunch of seriously terrified people...and an armed killer!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

The stories in the series were written in 2006 and 2007. Technology does not match today's levels. Nor does airport security!

Thank you to Sarai for the continued support and comments!

 **Welcome to Cascade**

A Sentinel/Hardy Boys crossover story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 5

When he reached the end of his video capabilities, Joe switched off his camera and put it back in his pocket. Frank was still snapping random pictures, but more slowly now, as the mad dash of people exiting the Convention Center had dwindled to a trickle. Daryl still sat on the car hood, looking distressed.

"What did you decide to take all the pictures for?" Joe asked, as Frank finally put his camera away.

"Just felt like it," Frank said, grinning. "Maybe something I took will turn out to be a special photo that wins awards. A Pulitzer Prize, maybe! I can sell it to a newspaper and get rich. 'Panic in Cascade...' or something like that!"

Joe just looked at him – and then snorted derisively. "Right."

"Hey!" Frank defended his notion, "It could happen!"

But Joe was no longer paying attention. "Daryl," he said, leaning down beside the other boy, "you okay?"

Daryl muttered "yeah," but didn't look up from studying the pavement.

Realizing how worried he must be about his father and the other detectives, Joe patted his shoulder comfortingly. "C'mon, let's see if we can go inside and find your dad, and Jim and Blair – and find out what happened!"

They approached the door and tried to open it, only to find that it was, of course, locked from the inside.

"Well..." Joe offered, "I've got my trusty lockpick set with me..." He reached into his pocket.

"Are you CRAZY?" Daryl expostulated. "You wanna break into a building swarming with police right after an assassination attempt?"

The Hardys looked at each other. If they'd been alone, they might have tried it, but after all, Daryl was a police captain's son...Obviously there were some differences in outlook between a policeman's kid and a private detective's!

"You're right," Frank conceded. "Let's go around front and see if they'll let us in that way. At the very least we can find out what happened, maybe."

Accordingly, they walked around the massive building to the front entrance. An ambulance was just pulling away with a little hiccupping yelp of the siren, as they rounded the corner. As they had expected, uniformed officers were guarding the doors; as they approached, they were immediately stopped by one, whose name tag read 'Czerny.'

"Sorry kids, can't go in there. We're not letting anyone in right now. There was a shooting—"

"We know that!" Joe exclaimed. "Daryl's worried about his dad!"

"I'm Daryl Banks, Captain Banks' son – he's head of Major Crimes," Daryl said, taking the lead. "He's inside...could we go in and find him, please?"

Officer Czerny shook his head. "Sorry, no—"

"And Detective Ellison and Detective Sandburg," Frank put in helpfully. "We just want to make sure they're all right."

The policeman was beginning to look a little flustered. "I can't let you in," he repeated. "But...Ellison and Sandburg, huh? Maybe I can send someone to find Captain Banks or one of the detectives, and they could come out and talk to you. How's that?"

The boys exchanged three-way glances. "That would be okay," Daryl said at last.

The officer stepped inside the glass doors and briefly consulted with a woman in uniform, who nodded and departed. Joe, Frank and Daryl waited. Officer Czerny stayed just inside the closed door.

Perhaps five minutes later, their patience was rewarded by the arrival of Simon Banks, still looking resplendent in his evening clothes, but wearing a harassed expression. He stepped outside.

"Daryl? I'm kind of in the middle of something—"

"Dad!" Somewhat to the surprise of both the Hardys and Captain Banks, Daryl shot into his father's arms, clutching him tightly. "I was afraid you'd been shot," Daryl's muffled words sounded from the vicinity of Simon's shoulder. "You – or Jim, or Blair..."

Captain Banks' expression softened, and he encircled his son in a comforting embrace. "I'm sorry, son...I didn't realize you knew what happened. I'm all right," he soothed. "I'm fine, Jim's fine, Blair's fine."

"Was anyone hurt?" Joe asked when Daryl at last stepped back a little. "People came stampeding out saying that there was a shooting, that there was an assassin loose in there..."

"Unfortunately, that's the truth," Banks admitted. "But the only one hurt was Thor—"

"THOR! Thor was shot? Was he hurt badly? Is he okay?" All three boys bombarded the captain with anxious questions.

"Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down. It was just a graze on his arm; he'll be fine. They took him to a hospital to be checked over, but I doubt that he'll even need stitches," Banks reassured them.

"Did you get the guy?" Frank inquired – and knew the answer to his question by the captain's disgruntled expression.

"No. Ellison deflected the gun as he shot, and made a grab for him – he was that close – but didn't get him. We figure he escaped in that mad scramble before we got the exits sealed." Banks looked at the three boys consideringly. "I'm going to have to go down to the precinct when I leave here," he apologized. "Want me to have a patrol car run you three back to the house?"

Daryl's eyes widened almost comically. "Are you kidding? Dad, there's an armed assassin running around loose and you want us to go back to the house ALONE?"

"Son, I doubt that he's going to go after you," Banks joked. "You'd be safe. You aren't a rock star with an agenda, after all."

"I don't care," Daryl said stubbornly. "We'd rather go down to the station with you – wouldn't we?" he appealed to the Hardys, who both nodded eagerly. No matter the reason – whether they were nervous about a roaming assassin, or just didn't want to miss out on any action – they definitely did not want to be sent home to Daryl's house!

"We'll stay out of the way," Frank said, "but we would rather be with...well, we'd feel safer..."

Captain Banks pulled a cigar from his pocket, and stuck it – unlighted – in his mouth. "All right, all right," he sighed. "I'll try to wrap things up here so we can go. Czerny—" he added, as he pulled open the door and went in, followed by Frank, Joe and Daryl, "The boys are going to wait for me here in the lobby."

"Yessir, Captain Banks!" Officer Czerny nodded crisply, and pointed to a grouping of chairs not too far from the doors. "Sit down, fellas."

#####

In a pleasant hotel room which overlooked the Cascade Convention Center, a shadowy figure dressed in black stood at the window, tiny powerful binoculars trained on the front entrance doors. So...those three kids were connected to the police, somehow? They'd been in the back alley, taking pictures.

The shadowy figure set down the binoculars and pondered the situation carefully.

#####

The scene in the Major Crimes bullpen was one of tired concentration – with a surrealistic edge provided by the few detectives present still being in evening clothes. Simon Banks was in his private office, on the telephone; Ellison and Sandburg were seated close together at Jim's desk, apparently trying to compile a report on what had occurred at the fundraiser, since Jim was the only who had even glimpsed the shooter. Rafe and Taggart were sitting at their respective desks, looking up things on the computer database. Brown had remained at the Convention Center to oversee what little wrap-up was needed – Forensics had dug out the two slugs from a wall behind the dais, but there was nothing else to go on – and Megan Connor had accompanied Kjetil Hakonsen to the hospital and from there to his hotel, where she would remain on guard for the time being.

Frank, Joe and Daryl were seated at Brown's desk – centrally located enough that they could hear everything going on, but abiding by their promise to try and stay out of the way, they were being quiet. Daryl was playing computer solitaire while the Hardys got out their cameras to review their photos and film footage.

"If I'd just been a little faster," Ellison muttered despondently now, resting his head on a fist. He was rapidly developing a headache. "I almost had him..."

"Jim, man, don't be so hard on yourself. You did what no one else even came close to doing: you kept Thor from being killed. You deflected the gun! If you hadn't done that, we'd have a dead rock star on our hands" Blair consoled his partner. He shoved back a dangling strand of wavy hair which had escaped his formerly tidy ponytail, tucking it behind his ear. "And you could have been shot doing it," he added accusingly.

"But if I'd been able to grab the guy—"

"We'll get him," Sandburg vowed. "I hate to sound callous...but since he didn't succeed, he'll probably try again. We'll get another chance at him."

Ellison snorted a little at that. "Now that's really looking at the bright side, Chief." He rubbed at his forehead, grimacing.

"You okay?" Blair's query was very soft. A monosyllabic grunt was the only response. "Jim? Talk to me."

"Just a headache, Sandburg; I'll be fine."

Instead of arguing, Sandburg reached to lay a hand over his friend's, gently rubbing his thumb over Jim's knuckles. "Dials..." he breathed, so softly that there was no chance of anyone hearing him, aside from the Sentinel.

Giving in, Ellison closed his eyes and let the feeling of Blair's fingers stroking his hand blot out any other input for a moment. He took a deep breath, visualized those damned – no, those _blessed_ – imaginary dials, and inched the one for pain downward. When he opened his eyes again, it was with a sense of blissful relief – and to his partner's smiling gaze. "Thanks, Chief. Why do you put up with me when I'm such a grouch?" Jim whispered, turning his hand beneath Blair's and squeezing his fingers briefly.

Sandburg grinned. "'Cause it's such a rush, bossing you around," he teased softly. "Better now? Need to take some aspirin?"

"Much better. No, I don't need the aspirin. Let's get this report finished. I just wish I could figure out what it was I smelled...there was something overlaying the gun oil, aftershave or cologne, or...something. And I'm pretty sure it was the gunman, not someone else."

"You'll get it eventually," Blair assured him, and turned his attention to the report they were attempting to compile.

###

Although tired, the Hardys were finding this situation fascinating. Usually their interactions with the police force were brief and to the point – reporting a crime or attack, getting assistance – but this glimpse of the inner workings of Major Crimes was a new experience. They were gaining a new respect for the detectives, whose investigations seemed to be made up of a myriad of tiny details, each one which needed to be pursued...just in case.

Joe was watching his little 'movie' when something made him frown and rewind it. Surely he couldn't have seen what he thought he did...He played it again, looking for the particular spot he'd noticed. There it was...

"Frank." He nudged his brother. "Look at this. Did you take any shots of these people coming out?"

Frank craned his neck to see, and then began flicking through his pictures, one after the other. "Probably. Let's see..." Finding the appropriate area, he slowed down, scanning the photos with concentration. "Yeah, here. See, there's the lady in the red dress...why?"

"Because," Joe replied, "I'm pretty sure that's Mr. Martin, from the plane, coming out of the Convention Center." He reached a hand for Frank's camera and stared at the photo intently.

His brother, frowned, puzzled. "Mr. Martin...?"

"You weren't paying any attention," Joe said, "but it was the guy sitting next to me on the other side, remember? We exchanged names – he said he was coming to Cascade on business."

"That's kinda funny," the older boy ruminated. "If he was here for a business trip, how likely is it that he'd be at a fundraising event for a rock star – a just-scheduled event, at that?"

"I suppose he could be a Valhalla fan," Joe conceded, still looking at Frank's camera display screen. "It just seems funny. I'm surprised I recognized him, though – he's so sorta...nondescript. The only thing that stood out about him was the peppermints!"

Jim Ellison's head jerked up, and he spun around to face the teenagers. "PEPPERMINT!" he barked. "That's it! That's what it was!" He was beside Joe in two strides. "What's this about somebody and peppermint?"

Shocked, Joe recoiled away from the fierceness in the detective's eyes. "Uh...sorry...didn't mean to distract you," he apologized. "It's just that we found a picture of a guy that was on our plane, who was at the reception tonight. He had this sorta odd habit...he ate peppermint candy the whole time we were in flight...he reeked of peppermint..."

"That's what I smelled!" Ellison exclaimed. "On the gunman – it was peppermint! I figured it was cologne! Show me the photo!" he demanded. Now Blair was there too, leaning over his partner's shoulder – and Joel and Rafe as well.

"Ewwww, peppermint cologne?" Rafe murmured in an aside to Taggart. "That is the epitome of tacky!"

Joe held out the camera. "There," he pointed. "That guy. Andrew Martin."

"I'd swear I've seen that face somewhere before," Rafe mused.

"Local talent?" Jim asked, scowling down at the picture.

"I don't think it was local," Rafe replied.

"Do you think you could pick him out of a mug shot book?" Blair asked Joe, who nodded.

"I think so, yeah. He was really average-looking, but I remember his nose looked like it had maybe been broken...and he had a distinctive scar on his right wrist."

"I didn't really look at him," Frank confessed, "but I'm willing to try, too."

"Let's find you some pictures to look at, gentlemen," Jim said. "Would you like a cup of coffee? Some Pepsi? It may be a long night!"

#####

"There. That's him." Joe said positively, some time later, looking up from a book with the ominous label _International Assassins_. "That's Andrew Martin."

Jim and Blair, who had been shepherding the boys through their search, both looked at the photo and the accompanying data. "Real name, Andrei Illyovich Marchlewicz," Blair said, stumbling slightly over the complicated name. "Jeez, he's Russian AND Polish? Except that he's not, he's listed as American..."

"He didn't speak with an accent," Joe offered.

"Identifying mark: scar on right wrist, from incident with barbed wire," Jim noted with satisfaction. "Broken nose. It all matches. Parents – Russian mother, Polish father, but born and raised here in the U.S. And he's got quite the résumé."

Frank had resumed looking at the digital pictures on his camera and Joe's little video. "Guys," he said now, quietly, "He's looking directly at the camera in this one. What are the odds that since we saw him...that he saw US, as well?"


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

The stories in the series were written in 2006 and 2007. Technology does not match today's levels. Nor does airport security!

Thank you so much, Sarai, for your feedback!

 **Welcome to Cascade**

A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 6

He'd been curious enough to do a little checking – and it was easy enough to find out who that big black man was who had seemed to be in charge, after the attempted assassination. All it took was a little computer work – and he was adept with a computer...

He pored over the data on the glowing laptop screen, his hotel room dimly lit by one small lamp and the computer screen itself. Simon Banks, captain in the Cascade Police Department, head of the Major Crimes division. Eighteen-year-old son, Daryl. Yes, it all fit. And apparently Daryl was friends with those two kids from the plane...the kids who had possibly gotten pictures of him leaving the Convention Center. The 'friends' they had come from Bayport to visit included the Banks kid – and his policeman parent.

He reached into the small sack lying on the tabletop near the computer, and took out a piece of red-and-white-striped candy. Unwrapping it, he put it in his mouth and sucked on it meditatively. He looked up more personal information on Simon Banks, and noted his home address. They might already be there – and if not, they'd have to get there some time tonight...

Best to eliminate all the possible hindrances, after all. He wouldn't get paid for _them_ , this would have to be done _gratis_. And he wasn't sure what his employers might think...But better safe than sorry.

#####

Sitting on a highly-polished desk, a sleekly-styled modern telephone buzzed softly, and was answered after the first ring.

" _Well?"_

" _Our man seems to have had a little trouble,"_ the urbane voice on the other end said, without preamble. _"He reports that he wounded the singer, but he's still alive!"_

" _Hmmm...that's unusual. He doesn't usually miss a target."_

" _Apparently one of the security people happened to see him, and moved quickly enough to deflect the shot."_ There was a pause _. "He has another chance. The concert."_

" _That's cutting it fine. There had better not be any more slipups!"_

" _There won't be. Thor is as good as gone."_

A muted _click_ signaled the end of the conversation.

#####

"I didn't want to go home," Daryl complained sleepily, from the front seat of the patrol car. "Dad shouldn't have made us go home. We coulda helped..."

"He had a crew of people looking for anyone fitting Andy Martin's description checking into hotels," Frank replied from the back seat. "They know what they're doing, and they've got the authority to ask questions. We don't."

"Even Jim and Blair were going home to grab some sleep," Joe pointed out with a yawn. "And I, for one, am still on Eastern time; it feels like four a.m. to me, not one! I really want to crash and catch some Zs...assassin or no assassin!"

"You got...a point," Daryl conceded, with a yawn of his own. "You know where it is?" he asked the patrolman at the wheel, suddenly, recalling that as far as he knew, they hadn't given the man his home address.

The officer smiled and nodded. "Yes."

A few minutes later they pulled up in front of the two-story frame dwelling which Simon Banks called home – the house which Daryl had grown up in, save for the last four years, when he alternated between it and his mother's upscale apartment in another section of Cascade.

"See? Nice and quiet," Daryl said as they coasted to a stop on the peaceful street. "You can just let us out; it's not like you need to come inside or anything!"

Rookie officer Dittman hesitated only a moment before agreeing. He didn't mind running the captain's son and his friends home, but he did need to get back on patrol. "Goodnight, boys," he said, as the three exited the car.

"Goodnight," they chorused, and stood watching as the patrol car proceeded down the street. Daryl was the first to turn towards the house, fishing in his pocket for his keys.

"Keep it down," he warned in a loud whisper. "It's summer, so everybody keeps their windows open all night."

"Did we ever unpack?" Joe yawned as they waited.

Frank thought about it intently. "I did," he said finally. "I think I did. This morning. Yesterday morning, I mean."

The sudden yowling of an affronted cat in the next yard over startled all three teens, and Daryl dropped his key ring with a jingling clatter.

"Sheesh! Hush up, Midnight," he called softly, adding to Frank and Joe, "The cat that lives next door likes to roam around at night in the summertime." He bent down, fumbling sleepily to retrieve the keys.

An irritated hissing followed by a clattering noise came from across the street; evidently Midnight wasn't the only feline on the prowl.

"Great, now we've got a cat fight starting," Daryl grumbled. "SHHHH!" he whispered loudly at both the cats.

An instant later, an inky black form shot through the row of rosebushes separating the two lawns, and began winding about Frank's ankles.

"Hi there, Midnight," he murmured, and stooped to pet the furry creature...

...and something _zinged!_ through the air like an angry bee, just where his head had been seconds before – and the front window of Simon Banks' home shattered into a thousand tiny pellets of glass!

"Somebody's shooting at us!" Joe yelped, and dove for the sidewalk. "Get DOWN!" He scrabbled towards the nearest source of shelter, a car parked alongside the curb near the driveway.

Frank and Daryl followed the younger boy's example and flattened themselves; Frank rolled towards the meager shadow provided by the roses; Daryl crawled rapidly in the direction of the garage.

"What's going on out there?!" a sleepy, irate voice demanded, and lights came on in the house next door. "Midnight! You fool cat, if you're causing a ruckus—"

"Judge Forrester! It's Daryl Banks – somebody's shooting at our house!" Daryl shouted, just as another angry cat-yowl sounded from across the street, followed by a second wasp-whine of a bullet – and to everyone's amazement, a hole surrounded by radiating cracks blossomed in the _Forresters'_ front window! "Call the police!" Daryl frantically screamed.

Expecting to be annihilated at any moment, the boys were shocked to hear muffled cursing, followed by footsteps – _receding_ footsteps – from across the street. Joe, closest to the street, glimpsed a dark-clad figure bolting down the block before it disappeared around the corner.

"Wow..." Frank sat up slowly as a large man in a bathrobe, clutching a cordless phone, came out of the Forresters' house. He was already talking to the 911 operator. "Th-thanks, Midnight," he whispered shakily, reaching to stroke the black cat, which purred loudly. "Thank you and your friend across the street! I think you just saved our lives!"

#####

Blair Sandburg arched his neck and lifted his shoulders, trying to loosen the knots of tension and fatigue which were turning his spinal column and all surrounding areas into one huge spasm. A real stretch wasn't possible, as he was currently behind the wheel of his Volvo sedan, driving with his roommate towards their loft apartment.

Having argued down Jim's automatic assumption that they'd be using his ancient Ford pickup the prior evening – using phrases like 'Beverly Hillbillies,' 'ancient relic,' and 'hayseed truck' – Sandburg had made sure that they used his car to attend the fundraising reception. Which meant that now _he_ was the one driving home at one in the morning, and all _Jim_ had to do was relax in the passenger seat and snooze! He sighed bitterly, and flexed his aching shoulders once more. _If only we hadn't ended up having to do hours of stuff at the station..._

"Next time maybe you won't say nasty things about Sweetheart," Jim murmured complacently.

"I thought you were asleep."

"Not quite – not for lack of try—"

" _All units in the vicinity, we have a 10-71, shots fired, reported at..."_

Blair heard the address, and stamped so hard on the brakes that he nearly sent Jim hurtling into the dashboard. "That's SIMON'S place!"

Jim was grabbing for the radio mike, bracing himself with the other hand on the dash, as Blair accelerated. "Turn onto Maplewood, we can catch the freeway!" he barked.

"Got it." Sandburg activated the siren, then flipped the switch to turn on the emergency lights. "Hang on." He shoved the gas pedal toward the floor.

###

They weren't the first to arrive – they'd been miles away, and a warm summer night in Cascade meant that there was more traffic to deal with than usual. By the time Blair pulled up in front of his boss's home, there were two patrol cars already there, lights flashing their eerie patterns across the quiet neighborhood – where, now, almost all the houses were lighted, their occupants awakened by the furor. Judge Forrester, accompanied by Midnight, was standing in his driveway, talking with one of the patrolmen.

Daryl, Frank and Joe had gone inside the house, and were huddled on seats in the living room under the watchful eye of a very nervous Officer Dittman. He had a feeling he was in for a serious load of trouble...although he hadn't been _ordered_ to remain and guard young Banks and his friends, he realized now that he should have at the very least escorted them into the house before leaving! Dittman miserably awaited the coming of Captain Banks – knowing that he would be incredibly lucky to get off with a chewing-out and a reprimand.

But when the front door opened and two blue-eyed, grim-faced detectives from Major Crimes – clad in tuxedos, no less, and looking extremely tired – strode into the room, the rookie cop wished he could sink through the floor. A worried Captain Banks might have been fierce, but he figured he could live through it. Faced with a worried – and _furious_ – Detective Ellison and his equally worried and furious partner, Detective Sandburg...well, Dittman, thought to himself, he might as well call his career over and done with. School-crossing-guard would be the highest he could aspire to, after this!

"Jim! Blair! Oh man, are we glad to see you!"

All three boys looked as if they wanted to lunge into the detectives' arms – that is, if they hadn't been working on acting as if being shot at was no big deal. Acting cool, however, didn't seem to occur to either Ellison or Sandburg; they both were across the room in a few strides, each grabbing for a teenager as if to make sure they were unharmed.

"You all right?" Ellison's voice was rough with concern. He kept an arm tightly around Daryl as he ran an assessing hand along Frank's shoulder. "You're scratched—"

"Rosebushes," the elder Hardy explained. "When the bullets started flying, I took a dive into the rose hedge!"

Blair, meanwhile, was looking searchingly at Joe. "You hurt anywhere?" he demanded.

"No – I'm fine," Joe assured him. "Just scared the hell outta me."

"I guess...I guess I must have been right," Frank gulped, feeling a little shaky, now that the danger was past and he realized just how close a call they'd had. "That guy...Andy...I guess he saw us take his picture, huh?"

"That's a pretty safe bet," Ellison confirmed. "Welcome to Cascade," he said dryly. "The most dangerous city west of the Rockies. You're here a day and already you're being shot at!" He straightened, still keeping his arm about Daryl, and turned towards Officer Dittman – who tried to meet his glacial blue stare, but couldn't quite manage it for more than a second or two. "You're the one who dropped them off?" the detective inquired in a deceptively mild tone. "Did it occur to you to make sure they were safely inside before leaving?"

"N-no, Detective Ellison...but—"

"But nothing!" Jim's voice lost its mildness; it was now like a whip crack. "What sort of asinine, irresponsible idiot—"

"Jim!" Daryl tugged on the big man's arm. "Don't! Don't blame him! We told him to leave, man! Everything was quiet, there wasn't any reason he needed to stick around!"

"We thought," Joe inserted with a tight little chuckle.

"He still should have made sure! Idiot!" Ellison snapped his mouth shut, gave the miserable Dittman a final glare, and turned away. He knew Simon would take over where he'd been forced to leave off, anyway.

"Jim – maybe we ought to check out where the shooter was...?" Sandburg suggested softly. He gave Joe's shoulder a soothing pat. "What can you tell us?" he asked the boys.

As quickly as they could, talking over each other and interrupting each other, they described what had happened, including the intervention of the two neighbor cats, one who had fortuitously invited Frank's stroking,

"Okay, I think we have the general idea," Blair sighed at last. He and Jim headed for the door – leaving the chastened Officer Dittman on guard.

Just as they were exiting the house, a familiar gold-colored sedan screeched to a halt in the street, and Simon leaped out. Seeing his detective team, he halted, searching their faces.

"They're all right?"

"They're fine, Captain, just a little scared," Ellison assured him. "The only damage is some rosebush scratches and two broken windows – yours and your neighbor's."

Banks sighed, visibly relaxing. "Thank God," he muttered. Then: "You're checking out the scene? Forensics here yet?"

"Yes, and no," Blair replied. He signaled Jim with his eyes. "Let's get on it before anyone decides to wander over there and mess things up." He started down the steps, then paused. "Captain," he added, "don't be too hard on Dittman – Jim already reamed him out pretty good!"

Banks just snorted. He watched his detectives walk across the street – and then he went inside to find his son.

As they neared the house, Ellison slowed his pace, pulling his senses up into a higher range. Blair moved a little closer, and rested a hand gently on his partner's arm as Jim started to go over the ground, step by step. The people who owned the house had courteously turned on some outside spots, but remained indoors, out of the way.

"Anything?"

"Mmmm...mmm-hmmm." Jim hesitated, then nodded. "Peppermint again. Faint, but definitely there. And more gun oil. If I made an educated guess, I'd say our friend Andy was here not long ago." He stared across the street, mentally calculating trajectories. "He stood approximately here...and fired. First at Simon's house – well, at the kids, but he hit Simon's house. And then – I don't know why his aim was so far off..." He stopped again, nostrils flaring as he tried to identify the myriad scents he was picking up. "I smell blood...just a little bit of blood."

"You think he was hurt?" Blair asked, startled.

"Not really hurt...it's just the slightest bit." Jim looked around, scanning the ground closely.

"The kids said they heard a cat," Blair volunteered.

"Mrrrrrrowwww!" They both turned at the sound, and beheld a smallish gray-and-white cat, sitting and observing them from beneath a rhododendron bush.

"Well, hello there, Lil Bit. Isn't she cute, Jim?"

Ellison couldn't quite bite back a grin. Sometimes his partner seemed about ten years old! "Cute, Chief, real cute."

The little cat got to her feet and trotted over to sniff at Blair's polished black dress shoes. She sneezed, daintily, and backed up.

Blair giggled – there was no other word for it. "Awww. Sorry about the shoe polish, Lil Bit."

Without warning, the cat made a leap – directly onto Sandburg's elegantly-clad leg – and dug her claws in. Blair emitted a strangled shriek, and grabbed for his tiny attacker.

"OW! Get off, you little demon! Ow!" Gingerly, he peeled the kitten loose from his pants and held her up to scold her. She immediately began to purr, and licked his thumb. "What, that's the way you ask to be picked up? Why, you..."

Jim was convulsed with laughter. "I think you just figured out what caused our sniper to miss," he chortled. "If that cat did anything similar to Marchlewicz, then it explains the blood and the misfire."

Blair considered that, then cuddled his new acquaintance against his jacket, figuring she could claw that without getting through to his skin. "Good job, Sugar," he told the cat approvingly. She purred complacently.

Ellison scanned the ground intently, seeking shell casings, but evidently the shooter, even under duress, was professional enough to have taken them with him.

Deciding they'd gotten everything they were going to glean from the area, they walked back across the street, after Blair had carefully placed Lil Bit back beneath her rhododendron bush. She settled down and began to placidly lick her fur into place as the two detectives departed.

"Chief – I was thinking..."

Blair looked up at the taller man, his eyes twinkling mischievously but he refrained from comment. "Yes?"

"This place isn't safe now. It may be okay tonight – Simon's here with the kids, and there'll be patrols all night, he'll see to that – but I don't think they ought to stay here tomorrow – at least, not until we catch this bastard Marchlewicz."

"You're probably right," Sandburg conceded.

"So – what would you think of having them move over to the loft?"

Blair smiled – and there was a very tender look in his eyes. _It's the same, over and over again,_ he thought. _Me...and Larry. Amber Larkin. Maya. Stacy. Naomi. Vince Deal._ _He takes them in, again and again. A witness to protect...an orphan of the storm. Someone that I cared about. Someone who needs him._

He knew it was partly the Sentinel's need to protect the members of his tribe – and that tribe had expanded recently, to include Joe and Frank Hardy – but it was also partly Jim Ellison's protective and caring nature...which he usually tried so hard to conceal.

"I think that would be an excellent idea, man! Let's do it!"


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

The stories in the series were written in 2006 and 2007. Technology does not match today's levels. Nor does airport security!

Thank you, Sarai, for the support and comments!

 **Welcome to Cascade**

A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver &Talefeathers

Chapter 7

"You're really willing to have three teenage boys descend on us and stay?" Blair Sandburg eyed his partner and roommate over the rim of his coffee cup. "You sure about this, Jim?"

Ellison sighed a little, but nodded. "It's better than them staying over at Simon's under house arrest, isn't it? Hopefully Andy Martin hasn't figured out where we live, Chief!" He shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "Sleepin' 'rangements?" he mumbled.

Blair glanced around their home. "It's going to have to be sleeping bags on the floor, for them, and the couch," he decided. "Unless you're going to give up your bed, that is." He grinned at Jim's emphatic head-shake. "Me either. It'll just be for a few nights anyway," he continued. "Until we nab that Andy guy."

"You'll pick 'em up?" Jim had swallowed the eggs now, and took a long drink of coffee.

"Yeah – you're heading into the station, right?"

Ellison nodded again, then did his own little glance about the apartment. "Maybe you could pick up a little before you go?" he hinted.

Blair eyed him coolly. "You aren't earning yourself any brownie points, man. But yeah, I'll see what I can do. After I pick up the kids I'm going to swing over to the hotel and check on Thor and the rest of his group. Make sure that he's doing okay, and that everything's set for the concert, since they rescheduled it for Sunday night. And I assume we're still on tap for handling the security." He grinned ruefully. "Not that we did such a great job last time – other than you – but what can you do, when the guests arrive armed, man?"

The Sentinel frowned, ignoring the last comment to concentrate on an earlier one. "You're going to take them with you? Isn't that a little risky, Chief?"

"Jim, I can't just coop them up here in the loft all day!" Blair exclaimed. "And they'd be thrilled to death to meet those guys from Valhalla! For that matter, I imagine the Valhalla people would appreciate seeing some new faces, since they're basically under guard in their hotel rooms."

Ellison looked dubious, but had to concede Blair's point. Valhalla had their own security people as well as Cascade PD's additional forces; there were uniforms over at Simon's with the three boys – and Simon, unless he'd already left for work – and Sandburg was right when he asserted that in all fairness, they couldn't keep Daryl, Frank and Joe confined to the loft.

Suddenly the older detective gave his partner a keen look. "You're doing it on purpose!" he said in surprise. "You want the guy to find them! You're using the Hardy kids and Daryl as bait!"

"Jeez, man, don't make it sound like that!" Blair protested. "I'm just..."

"Just using them as bait," Ellison reiterated. He considered that for a moment. There were some merits to the idea. It was risky, yes, but..."Were you going to warn them ahead of time, or just fling them out with targets painted on their backs?"

"Jim!"

"Yes, Chief?"

"I – um – I'll talk to them about it," the younger man promised. "But those kids are tough; I don't think they'd back down."

"Keep an eye out, then," Jim warned, and got up to put his breakfast dishes in the sink. "I've got to go – I want to get in touch with Sneaks and some other people out on the street. It might be a long shot, but someone might have a line on our Mr. Marchlewicz." Suddenly he stopped and turned around sharply, staring hard at his roommate. "Wait a minute...Simon's gonna blow a gasket when he hears what you're doing with Daryl!"

"Gee, and I won't be there, will I, since I have to baby-sit the boys, and do liaison duty with Valhalla." Blair's voice was all honey and cream. "I guess you'll have to talk with him about it, won't you?"

"Sandburg, you are the Devil incarnate!"

"No..." Blair grinned a little. "I just figure you can withstand the screaming better than I can...you can dial down your hearing; I can't!"

"You owe me for this one, Junior!"

"I know...and thank you. Good luck, man. Keep in touch by phone," Blair requested, "and we'll see you this afternoon." He reached a hand back behind his head, and Jim gripped it briefly before picking up his gun and holster, his Cascade Jags cap, and heading out the door.

#####

"He's doing WHAT?" Simon Banks erupted from his chair, and unflappable though he usually was, Jim Ellison took a hasty step back from his enraged superior. "Sandburg's taking MY SON – and those Hardy kids, who are being stalked by a killer, to the OTHER targets of said killer? How could you let him pull a stunt like that? Has he lost his mind? Have you lost YOURS? I thought you two were going to keep them safe!" He loomed over Ellison, glaring fiercely. "You're not going to put my boy in danger like that, Ellison! I'll have Sandburg AND you on traffic duty for the next month for this! No, make that three months!"

Jim tightened his jaw, staring straight ahead. "Permission to speak, sir?" he said formally – and out of the corner of his eye, watched Banks' reaction. The captain knew he'd have good reasons for doing what he'd done, and he'd feel obliged to listen to them.

"Oh, for...Yeah, yeah...let's hear the explanation, Detective." Simon sighed, turned and paced behind his desk, picking up a chewed-on cigar stub in passing. "It better be good," he muttered, re-seating himself.

"Sandburg and I discussed it, and he maintains that we can't keep those kids penned up at your house or at the loft," Jim began, "and he's right. It's punishing them for something that isn't their fault – especially Daryl, who's basically an innocent bystander. He also reminded me that Valhalla has their own bodyguards, as well as the officers we've put on security detail; it's not likely that anyone can get to them while they're in their hotel suite, so it's a pretty secure place to go. We need to connect with Thor and make sure he's okay for the re-scheduled concert, and go over security measures – figuring on two different situations: either we've caught the assassin or we haven't. And," Jim concluded, "can you think of anyone else who makes more sense to deal with Daryl, Frank, Joe, and the Valhalla crew? Sandburg's used to dealing with kids that age, or he used to be. And he actually likes Valhalla's music!" The Sentinel shuddered a little as he uttered the last words.

Captain Banks had listened in silence, his face set in grim lines, but by the time Jim reached his final argument, he wore a reluctant smile. "I suppose that's true," he admitted.

"Captain, forgive me, but – would it bother you even slightly, if Daryl weren't involved?" Ellison asked gently.

Banks avoided the Sentinel's eye. "I think I'll take the Fifth on that."

 _That's what I thought._ "And..." Jim continued, knowing that this part of Blair's scheme would appeal to the _cop_ in Banks, if not the father, "we're hoping this might draw Martin out."

"Bait."

"Yes, sir."

"I don't like it, Jim...but I do see Sandburg's reasoning," Simon sighed. "But he's taking a terrible risk." He shook his head. "Did it occur to you that the Hardys – or Daryl – might not want to be used as bait? I know they aren't novices – I checked them out, before they came," he admitted, somewhat to his friend's surprise, "and they're about as tough as they come, and they've worked with their father quite a bit. But still..."

"Blair's going to discuss that with them," Ellison promised, with a quirky little smile. "If they turn him down, that's the end of it. But we don't think that'll happen."

#####

"Are you kidding? We can go with you to see Thor and Valhalla at their hotel?!" Joe Hardy's blue eyes were wide with astonishment – and hopeful delight.

"Blair, man, do you mean it?" That was Daryl, grinning like a maniac.

"Wow...just...wow." Frank, characteristically, was the most reserved, but he was smiling widely, and his dark eyes sparkled. "That would be super, Blair!"

"Sure I mean it. But first let's drop off your stuff at the loft, okay? We'll head for the hotel afterwards. I need to call ahead anyway."

To Daryl, of course, the Ellison-and-Sandburg residence was a familiar place, although he wasn't there nearly as often as his father. But still, he knew what it looked like, where things were kept. He'd dropped by for help with his homework from Blair, once or twice during high school. He'd even stayed overnight a time or two when bad weather kept him and Simon from going home after watching a Jags game on television.

For the Hardys, it was a chance to see the two police officers in a more casual light – and they were intrigued by the apartment nearly as much as they had been initially intrigued by the two men themselves.

To begin with, it was on the very edge of Cascade, close to the Sound, so close that you could see the sparkling water out the windows. What a difference from Simon's house, which was located in a suburb with not much view at all! As Blair parked his car and led the way into the building, the Hardys stared about with appreciation.

Frank wasn't quite sure what he had expected. Something ultra-modern, perhaps – definitely minimalist and macho, judging from Jim Ellison's tough-guy image. A third-story condo over a clothing store certainly hadn't been in his mind, though! He and Joe shared smiling glances as they slowly ascended in an elevator which, Blair remarked, sometimes decided to take a vacation. This was fun, despite the dubious reason for them being there!

"Here we are!" Blair unlocked the door and opened it with a flourish.

Their first impression was of light – lots and lots of light. Windows, even with drapes drawn, let in the summer glow...Skylights. Brick. Lots of wood. Dark green walls and protruding yellow pipes. Hardwood floors and sleek, basic furniture. Surprisingly neat and tidy!

But it wasn't stark and it wasn't barren. There were bookshelves, crammed with books, CDs, DVDs, photographs and all sorts of art objects; a colorful afghan was folded on the back of the couch and there was a multitude of pillows there as well; there were lamps and end tables, and a well-equipped kitchen that was definitely used on a daily basis – and most amazing of all, a bicycle hung on a support pillar – whether as a decoration or merely because it was a convenient storage place, they didn't know.

"Wow..." Joe whistled appreciatively, and nodded approval at Blair, who was smiling at the boys' reaction.

"We like it," was all he said, and closed the door, then tossed his keys into a little basket set atop a convenient table. "You can stow your things in my room," he went on, pointing to a set of glass French doors. "We'll figure out the sleeping arrangements eventually, but we do have foam camping mats and plenty of sleeping bags, as well as the couch." Privately, Blair suspected that _he_ would end up occupying a piece of the floor in Jim's bedroom, leaving the three boys downstairs together. Oh well...he'd slept on the floor before, and likely would do it again...

"There's so much...stuff!" Joe whispered as they put their things in the little room Sandburg had indicated. He looked in amazement at the shelves jammed with more books, more little statues, more strange things. Spears, for instance! And masks, both beautiful and grotesque.

Daryl chuckled softly. "Blair used to be an anthropologist, before he was a detective," he reminded the Hardys. "He's got things from all over the world; places he traveled. Jim probably does too, since he was in the Army, but he doesn't display 'em like Blair does!"

After settling in a bit, being shown a few essentials – such as where the bathroom was located – and inspecting the view of the Sound from the balcony, which included trying out the telescope – all three boys were anxious to get started over to the hotel where Valhalla was staying. But as Blair ended his call to make sure they were expected, Joe raised a point which had been niggling at his brain ever since the plan had been suggested.

"Blair...if this Andrei guy is gunning for Thor – and apparently gunning for us – is it a very good idea for us to go over to his hotel? Seems like if we're there, Martin gets us all in one place, assuming he's watching the hotel. Sitting ducks!"

There was a twinkle in Sandburg's wide blue eyes. "Very observant. Good for you."

Frank's eyes narrowed. "You're doing this on purpose! You're using us as bait, aren't you!?" he accused. "You're trying to get him to come after us, get him out in the open!"

Blair didn't stop smiling. "Don't you want to meet Thor and the others?"

"Blair..." Daryl was a little suspicious now. "does my dad know about this?"

The smile faltered just a bit. Simon's reaction had been the weak point in their scheme. "Uh...yeah. He probably does by now, yeah," he replied. "Jim's going to talk to him about it." Well, Jim hadn't called to tell him to drop the idea. Either Simon had acceded to their plan, or he'd killed the Sentinel, and hidden his body...He looked at Daryl questioningly. "Would you rather stay here, then? You'd be safe here, I think." He glanced at Joe, then Frank. "If you'd rather not, it's okay, you know."

Frank looked at Joe. Joe looked at Daryl. They both looked at Frank, who spoke for them all: "Heck no, we're not staying here and hiding! Bait or not, we want to meet Valhalla!"

#####

Valhalla was occupying the penthouse suite of the Cascade Hilton. Blair displayed his badge, a telephone call was made, and in a few minutes another bodyguard similar to Sven, and a uniformed Cascade police officer arrived to escort them upstairs, by way of a special elevator that required the use of a key to function.

"You ever stayed in a place like this?" Daryl whispered to Joe, as they followed Blair and the guards down the richly-carpeted corridor towards the double doors at the end. "Not the hotel, I mean, but...like this?"

"No," Joe answered, "but I have really high aspirations to make a habit of it!" They both snickered softly.

"Detective Sandburg – come in." To the surprise of all four of the visitors, Kjetil – Thor himself – opened the door to the suite, a smile of welcome lighting his face. He was barefoot, dressed in black jeans and a loose, long-sleeved shirt which served to conceal the bulky bandage wrapped around his arm. "And you brought us some friends...?" There was a hint of question in the softly-accented words.

"That's right," Blair nodded. "When I called, you said it would be all right—?"

"It is very all right," the singer chuckled. "We're so bored, cooped up here under guard, we are ready to kill each other; no need for assassins!" He grinned at Daryl and the Hardys. "It is nice to see some new faces!"

"In that case, may I present Daryl Banks – that's Captain Banks' son – and two friends of his, Joe Hardy and Frank Hardy, who are visiting Cascade from back east."

Thor cordially shook hands with the three teens. "Let me get the others," he said then, and went to an inner door. Opening it, he spoke a few words in Norwegian, then returned, followed by four other young men of varying heights and appearance, also dressed very casually.

"As you know, Valhalla refers to Norse mythology," the singer prefaced his introductions, "and so we have stage names that reflect that. This," he began, pointing to a large guy who looked like he was into body-building, "is Odin. His real name is Invar Jensen, and he's our keyboardist. Odin, this is Daryl, Frank and Joe. Oh, and Detective Sandburg, of course."

"Glad to meet you." Odin, like Thor, was a blue-eyed blonde, but his hair was a short, fluffy mass of curls, rather than Thor's long, straight locks. "Welcome to our humble home." He gestured grandly at the ornate suite.

"This is Bjorn Haugen." Thor pointed to the next man, who was slight and on the short side – about Sandburg's height. He looked younger than the rest, and he had blue eyes, and dark brown hair hanging to his collar. "He goes by the name Sigurd, and he plays lead guitar."

Sigurd nodded shyly and smiled. "Hello."

"This is Nils Lindholm—" Thor began.

"LOKI!" Daryl burst out, unable to stop himself. "You're Loki!"

Lindholm grinned. "Who else?" he asked. He had evidently chosen his stage name to match his appearance, for he had red hair and a short red beard, and mischievous green eyes.

"And you play bass," Joe filled in happily, as they shook hands. "Awesome, just awesome!"

"And last we have Mikhael Leinonen," Thor concluded. "Mik doesn't call himself anything else. He's not Norwegian; he comes from Helsinki, Finland. But we try to overlook it...because he's a pretty good drummer."

Leinonen rolled his eyes and shook his shoulder-length mane of dark blonde hair.

"The only reason I joined Valhalla," he said, with the same lilting accent the others used, leaning towards Daryl, Frank and Joe to speak in a confidential tone, "is to give the band a little class – which they sadly lack without me! And," he added in a loud whisper, "not one of them can hold a beat!" He reached to shake their hands.

Joe was surprised by the strength of his grip, and then realized that a drummer probably built up a lot of muscle strength in his hands and forearms. At least, Mik Leinonen had!

"Finns!" Loki cut in. "Always think they're better than anyone else!"

Mikhael grinned, his blue eyes crinkling. "Not think...KNOW!"

"Anyone thirsty?" Odin inquired, going to the kitchen area and opening up the refrigerator. "We have...everything, I think!"

"There's chips and pretzels," Sigurd reminded his bandmate.

They settled onto the couches and chairs with their drinks and snacks – the rock stars and the detectives' kids – and for awhile, there were just eight teen-and-twenties guys in casual conversation, which ranged from movies to music to video games to sports – all the while carefully avoiding the reason they were having this chance to meet.

Blair Sandburg sat a little apart, listening to the chatter. He was fascinated by the rockers' easy ability to switch from Norwegian to English, mid-sentence, or sometimes mid-word, as they commented on something among themselves, and he loved the sing-song rise and fall of their speech patterns. The detective in him was calculating risks and wondering if their prey was going to take the bait – but the anthropologist in him was delighting in the situation and the social interaction.

At last he felt obliged to bring the visit to a close. Reluctantly, he got to his feet. "Daryl – Frank, Joe – we really need to go," he said in a regretful tone. He felt annoyingly like an intruding parent breaking up a party. "The band probably has things to do."

"Not really," Thor said, but he rose as well. "We are very glad you came to see us!"

"It's been just...incredible, getting to meet you!" Frank smiled. "I'll never forget this!"

"Are you coming to the concert tomorrow night?" Mikhael asked. "If you didn't get tickets, we can get you comp passes."

"Well, we're sort of hoping..." Joe glanced at Blair, eyebrows arching inquisitively.

Sandburg didn't disappoint. "Frank and Joe may be helping us with security, so they wouldn't have to have tickets," he said, "but Daryl might need one."

"No problem, but I'll give you the comps just in case the security thing doesn't pan out," Loki said, and rummaged through a manila envelope on the desk to find both tickets and backstage passes. "And a little something else..." He glanced at his fellow Valhalla members as he held up a couple of CD jewel boxes. "Okay to give them?" Receiving confirming nods, he held out one each to Frank and Daryl. "Latest. Not released to the general public yet. If you'd like it...?"

"Are you...you mean it?" Daryl's face shone as he accepted the CD and tickets. "Oh, man, THANK YOU!"

Frank held the little box reverently, as Joe gaped over his shoulder at the unexpected gift. "I can't wait to hear it!"

"Good." Loki grinned. "See you tomorrow!"

"Thanks for coming!"

"See you tomorrow night!"

"It was fun, hope we can get together again!"

Escorted by the police officers and the burly bodyguard – whose name, it turned out, was Kevin – again, they made their way to the elevator and descended to street level. As they walked to Sandburg's car, Joe exhaled a long breath.

"I can't believe I just met Thor and Valhalla!" he said with a happy sigh.

###

Across the street and a half block down, the watcher tightened the focus on his tiny binoculars. His patience had at long last paid off.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

The stories in the series were written in 2006 and 2007. Technology does not match today's levels. Nor does airport security!

Thank you, Sarai, for your continued support and comments.

 **Welcome to Cascade**

A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Talefeathers

Chapter 8

"Connor...anything?" Jim Ellison demanded of the Inspector as she hung up her telephone.

"Sorry, Jimbo, but nobody seems to have seen anyone answering that description," she replied, shaking her head. "I've contacted everyone I can. My list of reliable snitches isn't as long as yours, you know," she added defensively, as he scowled.

Jim grimaced down at his desk. He _hated_ to be called 'Jimbo,' and Connor knew it – and did it anyway. "Doesn't matter how long it is, if no one's delivering the goods," he grumbled. "I sacrificed a new pair of Nikes just to hear Sneaks say he hadn't seen or heard a thing!"

"Your own?"

"Well...no...snitch fund," he admitted. "But still..."

"The guy's a pro," Rafe commented ruefully, scratching out another name on his own list. "He's staying out of the way of the locals – and moving from hotel to hotel to keep ahead of us!"

Ellison glumly regarded his notes. There was absolutely nothing helpful there. He looked at the clock. Three-forty-eight. "I think I may as well head home," he said. "I'm not getting anywhere. Sandburg's had babysitting duty all day, and that included visiting that rock band. It's only fair I give him a hand." He began to tidy up the desk, feeling frustrated. Not only had no one's informants come through for them, their elaborate plan of luring Andrei Marchlewicz seemed to have been a failure as well. Blair had reported 'no dice,' when he'd called, although apparently the meeting with Valhalla had gone well. And Simon wouldn't care if he left early, since Daryl's safety was at stake...

"Ellison! My office!"

 _Um...then again..._ Jim shoved a few file folders into his desk drawer and got up to answer the summons.

"You wanted to see me, Captain?"

"Anything?" Simon Banks stared up at him with bloodshot brown eyes, and Jim felt a pang of sympathy. Not only did Banks have Thor's safety to ensure, with all the political repercussions that entailed, he had an assassin running around Cascade just waiting for another chance – and they'd dangled his only child as a lure. Simon knew, of course, that if anything had happened, he'd have been informed...but that didn't mean he couldn't want some reassurance.

"No sir, nothing. Sandburg reported that everything's been quiet, and they're staying in the loft. I thought I'd head home."

"Do you want me to pick up Daryl later? Or leave him at your place?"

"Leave him," Ellison said. "We figured on him staying, and there's no sense in ruining things for him by taking him away from his company. You're welcome to come by, though." He grinned. "But you can't sleep there...we're running short on accommodations as it is!"

Banks nodded, his tired eyes lighting a little. "I'll see you later, then."

#####

"I am...well, not bored, exactly – we have things to do. But...antsy, I guess," Joe said quietly to his brother, under cover of one of Mik Leinonen's renowned drum solos. He and Frank were in Blair's little bedroom, but the French doors were wide open, letting in each crashing chord and guitar riff, as the boys played the new Valhalla CD for the third time.

Daryl was sitting on the loveseat avidly reading the lyric booklet, following along with the singers. Blair was stretched on the couch in the living room with his eyes closed; there was no way the man could be asleep, but he insisted that he could _rest_ just fine. "I wish we could do something to help with finding this Martin guy!" Joe looked around, stealthily. "Do you suppose we could sneak out? There's the fire escape door right here..."

"Sneak out." Frank regarded him with utter disapproval. "Sneak out and do what, precisely? It isn't like we can go somewhere and investigate something, Joe – we're basically in protective custody to keep us away from Andrei Marchlewicz! And if he took the bait and followed us here, sneaking out would only get us killed – you realize that? I, for one, didn't care for the feeling of those bullets going over my head last night!"

"I know, I know, neither did I...but I don't like feeling so helpless," Joe groused. "We're usually able to solve things on our own."

"We're in a strange city – and I mean that in more ways than one!" Frank pointed out good-humoredly. "And we're guests of police officers, bro – now is not the time to go running off on our own. I don't like being not in control either, but..."

"And Blair keeps looking at me," Joe cut in, frowning in puzzlement. "He looks at you, too, but he really looks at me. When he thinks I don't notice it."

Frank snorted unsympathetically. "Maybe it's a cop thing. He isn't the first police officer to look at you funny."

Now it was Joe's turn to snort. "Very funny. Not like that. Like...I dunno. Like he expects me to say or do something weird!"

His brother shrugged. "Sounds like he's right on target to me!"

"Blair's curious about everything," a new voice put in, and the Hardys both jumped a little in guilty surprise, as Daryl came into the room. Joe hoped that he hadn't heard anything in the 'trying to sneak out' portion of the conversation! "Remember, I told you he used to be an anthropologist. He's always looking to find out more about everything, and then he pulls out these little nuggets of information later – drives Dad crazy, but it does come in handy sometimes." He grinned at Joe cheerfully. "Don't worry about it, Joe – you're just being filed away in his brain, that's all."

"Oh, swell."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening, and a pained shout. "SANDBURG! Turn it down!"

"Ooooops!" All three boys cringed a little, then slunk guiltily out of the bedroom to face Jim Ellison's wrath. They were relieved to see that he looked more tired than angry. Blair had bounced upright at his roommate's bellow, and was now standing beside him with a comforting hand on his shoulder, talking very softly and earnestly as Ellison rubbed at his ears.

"Sorry, Detective Ellison." Frank hastily turned the volume down. "We didn't realize you were home."

"It wasn't Blair's fault we had it so loud," Joe added to the apology. Now he was remembering something he'd nearly forgotten about Ellison: the man had extremely acute hearing. The blasting stereo must have been deafening to him! "We're sorry." _Nice, Hardy_ , he thought to himself. _The man offers to let you stay in his home to protect you, and you break his eardrums!_

"No harm done," Ellison conceded, his tight expression easing. "But remember, we have to live with these neighbors, guys, okay?" His gaze slanted down to Blair's face, and he smiled a little. "It's okay," he added a soft reassurance to his Guide. He glanced at Frank. "I thought we'd settled that you called me 'Jim'."

"That was before we blasted you with the stereo," Joe said, still slightly nervous, but Ellison just chuckled and headed for the kitchen, where he rummaged in the refrigerator for a bottle of water.

"Anything turn up?" Blair inquired of his partner, when Ellison had established himself on the long sofa with his water. Blair sat down next to him; the boys found seats on the big chair and loveseat, all listening intently.

"Nope. And no nibbles here?"

"Uh-uh."

"Since he hasn't surfaced and hasn't taken the bait, that means he'll probably strike at Thor during the concert tomorrow night, doesn't it?" Frank speculated.

"Probably," Jim grunted.

"Which will be a security nightmare," Blair added grimly.

They sat silently for a few moments, with only the muted sounds of Valhalla to accompany their gloomy thoughts, then Blair slapped his thighs and got to his feet.

"It's too early for dinner, but we need to do something fun, to get us outta this funk, guys!" He eyed the boys speculatively. "Do you play poker?"

#####

"How does he DO that?" Frank disgustedly watched Blair rake in a pile of chips...again. "He wins almost every time! I thought I was a pretty good poker player, but..."

"You are," Jim acknowledged, expertly shuffling the cards. "If anyone can give Sandburg a challenge, it's probably you. But," he shrugged, and dealt swiftly, "I figure he sold his soul to the Devil long ago, when it comes to poker."

"Hey, I had to finance my way through college and grad school!" Blair defended himself. "Pool and poker were my main sources of income, back then! And I haven't made a pact with the Devil," he added, frowning at his partner. "You're just jealous, man."

"Ohhh, I don't think so." Ellison surveyed his cards impassively. No one could do a poker face like Jim Ellison.

"It's a good thing we aren't playing for money." Joe looked ruefully at his dwindling pile of chips. "I'd be broke long before now!"

"It's a good thing I don't have to finance college by playing poker." Daryl's pile of chips was nearly as small as Joe's. "I thought I'd learned from Dad, but I guess I was wrong."

Jim leaned over the table towards him. "You DO play just like Simon," he confided. "Does that tell you anything?"

"Frank, what are you figuring on majoring in?" Blair asked now, frowning abstractedly at his cards. "I know Daryl's doing the Criminal Justice deal, since he's thinking of police work."

"Same for me," Frank said. "Only I don't think I'll be going into law enforcement, exactly. Since our dad is a private investigator, Joe and I plan on joining his firm eventually."

"We've had some practice, both helping Dad and on our own," Joe put in. "We're not ruling out the police, or FBI, but it's not our first choice." He smiled blandly at the police officers. "Sometimes we work better when we're...um...operating without police presence."

Blair grinned teasingly at his partner. "Sometimes that's true of Jim and me as well."

"Sandburg!"

"Face it, Jim, you know it's true."

"Is the music too loud for you?" Frank inquired, still slightly apprehensive that their Valhalla CD – now playing on its sixth repeat – would bother the big detective, but Jim shook his head.

"No, it's fine now. Not really my taste, but not as bad as some." Jim listened for a moment to the intricate guitar work. "Good guitarist. Just not—"

"Not Santana," Blair finished for him, laughing.

###

"I'm starting to get hungry," Joe admitted, looking at his watch when the next hand had played out, with Frank the winner. "It's almost seven."

"Then let's do something about dinner. Can everyone live with ordering in pizza?" Blair asked, getting to his feet and reaching for the kitchen phone. "Tell me what you like and don't like," he requested, dialing from memory.

Jim got up too, and opened the fridge door. "Chief, we're almost out of Coca-Cola." He glanced around at the three boys. "How much of that stuff do you kids drink, anyway?" he inquired with a smile to take away the sting. "Sandburg and I can have beer, but I think someone's going to have to make a quick run to get some more Coke."

"I'd offer to go...but I don't suppose it would be a good idea for Joe or me to do it," Frank ventured.

The older detective gave him a curious look. "You saying you'd go?"

"Well...yeah. If you wanted," Frank said hesitantly. He looked at Joe. "Maybe it would shake something loose...You want us to?"

"God, NO!" Blair covered the phone with his hand. "Jim, stop teasing them! I'll go get it; no one's gunning for me!"

"Other than the usual psychos," Jim murmured.

Blair hung up the phone a few minutes later. "Pizzas will be here within 30 minutes," he announced. "Plenty of time for me to run down to that little grocery on 4th and pick up another 12-pack of Coke. Or do you guys want something else? Root beer?"

The boys shook their heads. "Coke's fine," Joe said. He gestured towards the table, covered with the detritus of a poker game: discarded cards and plastic chips, a half-empty bag of pretzels, a can of mixed nuts. "We should clean this up, huh?" As Frank raised his eyebrows in disbelief, Joe grinned cheerfully at his brother. "Hey, I'm trying to be a good guest, here. Stop acting so surprised!"

Ellison eyed the younger Hardy with new respect. "I LIKE this one, Chief! Can we keep him?"

"No. We can't," Blair said flatly. "Sheesh, having these guys around makes you act like YOU'RE 17 again!"

Ellison just smirked – and then set to work helping Joe clean up the mess.

Blair headed for the door, stopping to buckle on his shoulder holster. "All right, I'm heading for the store. Last chance to change your minds about beverages." He waited a beat. "Hearing none, I'm outta here. Back in about 20 minutes with a 12-pack of Classic Coke – right about the time the pizza should be here!" He departed, closing the heavy metal front door with a bang.

A man trotted past 852 Prospect, dressed in shorts, t-shirt and running shoes, and a baseball cap. A black fanny-pack was strapped about his hips – an unusually _heavy_ fanny-pack. Andy Martin had spent a very long, hot afternoon alternately jogging up and down Prospect and its adjoining streets, and sitting on a conveniently-situated bus bench under a shady tree, where he could relax, munch peppermints and keep an eye on the building in question. Once he'd even trotted into the lobby and checked the mailboxes to ascertain which apartment housed Detectives Ellison and Sandburg. Although he'd noted an uncomfortably high number of patrol cars cruising the neighborhood, Andy's cool composure hadn't slipped a notch, and he'd managed to keep himself under the radar, as far as being noticed.

He'd followed the long-haired, _pretty_ detective and those damned kids back here, from the hotel. He'd watched when the big, tough-looking cop had arrived home. And now the pretty one had left on foot. That meant that there was only one cop – and three kids – in the apartment.

Time to get moving.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

The stories in the series were written in 2006 and 2007. Technology does not match today's levels. Nor does airport security!

Thank you, Sarai, for your continued support and comments.

 **Welcome to Cascade**

A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 9

Once the loft was comparatively tidy again, Jim decided to take advantage of a few free minutes to grab a shower. He might have been sitting around in the bullpen most of the day, but he'd driven home in a non-air-conditioned truck, and although the loft was relatively cooler than outside, he still wanted a chance to cool off and clean up.

The three teenagers were settled in the living room again, watching an old rerun of _Lethal Weapon II_. Ellison couldn't help grinning a little at the choice – it was one of his favorites as well. All three of the boys were chanting the dialogue along with the actors. Deciding that wandering around the loft in a towel as he usually did might be considered slightly poor manners right now, Jim went upstairs to his bedroom, got out clean clothes, and descended once more to take his shower.

Ten minutes later he was dressed and feeling much more civilized. He got another bottle of water from the refrigerator, and paused near the front door, thoughtfully. He'd hung his holster and service weapon in the usual place when he'd arrived home, but maybe it would be a good idea to wear it, just because...He took the holster down and buckled it on.

"Expecting trouble?" Joe inquired quietly.

Ellison turned, slightly surprised to see the young man directly behind him. "Not really," he acknowledged, "but it's always better to be prepared."

Joe nodded, and turned away, evidently heading for the bathroom. In the living room, Frank and Daryl got to their feet as well; the movie halted for the time being.

"Pizza ought to be here any time," Frank noted with satisfaction.

"And Blair should be back with the pop," Daryl added. "I'm going to put my CD away," he went on, and popped the disc out of the player, holding it carefully as he placed it back in the jewel case. He headed for Blair's bedroom. Frank shut the television off, then trailed along behind Daryl, for no other reason than to be companionable.

#####

It had taken so little effort. The pizza-delivery car had pulled into the parking space and the delivery boy had gotten out, balancing two large boxes. The top box had a slip taped to it, with 'Sandburg, 852 Prospect, #307' and the price. Andy Martin had stepped out of the stairwell door as the kid entered the lobby.

"Is that the pizza order for #307?" he asked in a friendly tone. "I'll pay for it and take it up."

"You Mr. Sandburg?" the kid asked, checking the slip of paper.

"No, I'm a friend of his. He sent me down to meet you and bring the pizzas up." Andrei lied smoothly. He smiled and held out a $50 bill. "Here. Keep the change."

Smiling, the boy handed over the pizza boxes and pocketed the cash. "Thanks! Enjoy your dinner."

"Oh, I intend to," Andrei said softly, watching him depart. "I fully intend to."

#####

When the knock sounded on the loft door, Jim went to answer it. He cranked his senses up just the slightest bit, having kept them on the low side while the kids had had the CD player on, and the volume up on Mel Gibson and Danny Glover's exploits, but he could discern nothing amiss – the aroma of hot pizza was nearly overwhelming, and he could hear nothing out of the ordinary. "Yes?"

"Pizza delivery!" was the answer, and Jim slid back the chain and opened the door...

...when the slightest hint of something else tickled his nose, underlying the tantalizing redolence of tomato sauce-and-cheese.

 _PEPPERMINT!_

Moving on instinct, Ellison threw himself against the door, attempting to block the entrance, but the man outside the loft was already shoving through the gap, pushing the bulky boxes of pizza straight into the detective's chest and tilting them up to mash against Ellison's face.

"DARYL! FRANK! JOE! Get out, NOW! GO! GO!"

Struggling frantically to grasp the smaller, more agile man, hampered by the boxes crushed between them, Jim couldn't let go to reach for his holstered weapon. He could only hope and pray that Marchlewicz didn't have his own gun out – because if he did, Jim was a dead man – and so were the three boys.

He shifted his weight to one leg and lifted the other, twisting it around Andrei's ankle, trying to throw the assassin off-balance. It worked, but somehow Andrei managed to maneuver in mid-fall, pulling Jim over so that he landed on the bottom with Andrei on top of him and reaching for his gun. Cursing, Ellison shoved frantically up, pushing the boxes against his attacker and forcing him to abandon his intention of drawing his weapon. He flung the pizza boxes to the side and dodged Andrei's blow at his windpipe; it caught him on the side of the head, and momentarily, Ellison saw stars.

That instant was all Marchlewicz needed; he had his gun in hand, and brought it down towards the detective's unprotected skull. Jim jerked reflexively to the side once more, and the gun glanced off without much force of impact. Still, two blows were enough to slow him down, and Andrei took full advantage of the moment. Leaping to his feet, the assassin kicked his opponent solidly in the side, then abandoned the fistfight to chase after his primary targets, leaving Ellison gasping on the floor, his eyesight momentarily blurred by pain.

 _Stop him...gotta stop him..._ Painfully, Jim rolled over and struggled to one knee, fumbling for his gun. He pulled it out, focused as best he could on the fleeing sniper, and pulled the trigger...only to hear glass shatter, as Andrei plunged towards the floor in a controlled dive, the bullet missed its intended target, and went through the balcony door.

Andrei was up again and running, turning around and raising his right hand. Two soft _pop! pop!_ sounds were heard, barely audible...and Jim Ellison was flung backwards to lie motionless on the floor, blood spurting from a wound in his left shoulder – and oozing down in a sullen crimson stream from a second wound which sliced along the side of his head.

###

When Jim had shouted his warning, Frank and Daryl had just started to emerge from Blair's room, anticipating the arrival of their dinner. As the detective's words sank in, Frank whirled and grabbed Daryl's arm, dragging him towards the fire escape door.

"C'mon! We've gotta get out of here!"

He didn't have to say it twice; Daryl was already moving as rapidly as he was. The two boys hit the door at the same time and yanked it open, infinitely grateful that it hadn't been locked, then scrambled out onto the fire escape. Not daring to look back, they scampered down the metal ladder as fast as they could go, and fled down the street seeking shelter.

"Here – this way!" Daryl panted, yanking on Frank's arm to pull him into an alleyway halfway down the block. "It cuts through...Blair will be...coming back...from that direction, and maybe...we can hide...behind the Dumpster..."

"Behind, hell!" Frank gasped. "I'm all for hiding IN one!" He dashed into the alley, hearing the other boy's footsteps pounding behind him, and found the hiding place they sought: a large trash container. Reluctant to climb in if it wasn't absolutely necessary, the two crouched down behind the receptacle, trying to stifle their panting breaths. They flinched, hearing in the distance the distinct sound of a gunshot.

"Noooooo," Daryl almost sobbed, fearing the worst.

As Frank caught his breath, he looked around – and came to a sudden frightening realization. "Daryl...where's Joe?"

###

At that moment, Joe Hardy was flattening himself against the fire escape door which led out of Jim Ellison's upper-loft bedroom, holding his breath and attempting to make himself soundless and invisible. He had come out of the bathroom just as Jim had shouted, and like Frank and Daryl, had headed immediately for the fire-escape exit – but instead of going _down_ , the younger Hardy had climbed _up_. He watched as Frank and Daryl fled down Prospect and disappeared into the alley. He knew he was taking a terrible chance...but he didn't want to leave Jim Ellison alone.

He heard the gunshot, heard the tinkling smash of breaking glass, and knew that whoever had shot had missed his mark. He bit his lower lip hard. _Andrei uses a silencer – at least, he did before._ That meant that the gunshot – the shot which missed – had been Jim's. He gasped in an involuntary breath...and prayed to hear another.

Moments later, the noise of the door being slammed open below him nearly made Joe jump out of his skin. He was holding his breath again, but watching the metal grid below his feet. If whoever that was, looked up...

But Andrei didn't look up. He was intent on rapidly descending, and Joe, from his elevated perch, caught muttered snippets of words in a foreign tongue, words that nevertheless sounded furious and frustrated. Joe watched in desperate silence as the assassin gained the street and set off in pursuit of his quarry, without looking back.

There was no sound from the apartment below. Slowly, stealthily, Joe made his way down the iron ladder, hoping against hope. He went into Blair's room, and hurried out into the loft.

"Oh God!"

Jim Ellison lay on his back, halfway between the front door and the loveseat. His eyes were closed; his face slack in unconsciousness. Blood was spreading rapidly across the upper part of his light blue shirt, was falling in drops, with slow, dreadful regularity from the scarlet gash in his head. His right hand still loosely grasped his service revolver.

Joe dashed across the floor, and grabbed for the cordless phone on the coffee table. He clicked it on and dialed 911 with shaking fingers, at the same time making a hasty detour into the kitchen, where he grabbed as many terrycloth towels as he could find. By the time he reached Ellison's side, his call had been answered. _Oh God, he's breathing...keep breathing, Jim, come on, keep on breathing..._

" _911, what is your emergency?"_

Frantically, Joe relayed the information, attempting at the same time to secure a towel about Ellison's head to staunch the blood flow. He folded up a couple of kitchen towels and pressed them against the wound in the detective's shoulder, as he entreated the 911 operator to "Hurry, hurry, get an ambulance here, police officer down..." He finished off by saying "The door's open – hurry!" and dropped the phone, heedless of the operator's request that he stay on the line.

He needed to stay – but he needed to go, as well. Frank and Daryl were out there, being relentlessly stalked by Andy Martin, cold-blooded killer-for-hire. Blair was – who knew? Perhaps too far away to help. The patrols might be cruising the neighborhood, but obviously they hadn't stopped the man...

With a sinking heart, Joe gently patted Jim Ellison's arm. "I've got to go find them – you understand, don't you? The medics will be here in just a few minutes." He started to rise, and then stopped in a half-crouch, gazing down at Ellison's service weapon.

 _Hell, if I get in trouble for taking a cop's gun, so be it! I'm not going out there empty-handed if I can help it!_ Joe eased the gun from Ellison's lax hold and stuffed it into his shorts pocket. The next moment he was out the door and about to descend the fire escape, when he glimpsed something that made his blood run cold in his veins.

Andrew Martin was walking slowly back up the street. He had evidently passed the alley where Frank and Daryl had taken refuge, but now realized his error and was backtracking. Unless Frank and Daryl had moved during the time Joe was with Jim inside the loft, they were going to be trapped – and executed – in short order.

From his elevated perch, his eye was caught by another moving figure further down the block – Blair Sandburg, returning from the grocery store. The young detective was sauntering along easily, a rectangular red box in one hand – with no suspicion that he was walking into a deadly trap.

 _Have to save Frank...have to warn Blair...have to save Frank and Daryl...warn Blair..._ The words circled in an endless loop through Joe's mind as he watched the two men. If he shouted a warning, Andrei would simply turn and shoot him; Joe had no illusions about the man's accuracy with a gun. He'd only missed before because of last-minute interference! And shouting might not accomplish what was needed; Blair might not hear him clearly, might not understand his peril.

But if he didn't shout, what was to stop the sniper from walking calmly into that alley, shooting Daryl and Frank with his silenced weapon, and then just as calmly strolling back out – and killing Blair Sandburg as he unknowingly walked past?

 _Decisions, decisions..._ Joe gritted his teeth and made his choice. Waiting until Marchlewicz was just starting to turn into the alley, he took out Jim's service pistol, pointed it into the air, and fired off two quick shots – and then immediately dropped flat on the fire escape and covered his head, hoping desperately that he might be hidden from the assassin's view.

The reports reverberated through the quiet street. At the sound, Andrei whirled about, searching for the source, gun drawn. Down the block, Blair Sandburg dropped the box of soda cans, snatched his pistol from its holster, and leveled it at the half-crouched figure he could see in the distance.

"CASCADE PD! Drop the weapon!" Blair began to run, keeping his gun trained on his target.

Andrei Marchlewicz spun towards the approaching detective and brought his gun up...

...just as a chunk of concrete, flung wildly by Frank Hardy from the depths of the shadowed alleyway caught him on the shoulder. He staggered, reoriented, and once again raised his gun.

Blair's shot caught him squarely in the left thigh, sending the sniper crashing to the pavement, clutching his bleeding leg and howling in pain.

###

Joe raised his head cautiously, took in the scene below, and darted down the fire escape stairs as fast as he could move. They converged upon Andrei Marchlewicz from three directions: Frank and Daryl from the alley, Joe from the loft, and Blair in the street, still keeping his gun trained on the fallen man.

Frank reached him first, and ignoring his moans and cries, moved quickly to kick the gun away.

Blair was the next to arrive. "Damnit, I don't have any cuffs on me! Are you guys okay?" The detective didn't take his eyes off his captive as Joe and Daryl hurried up.

"We're fine." With surprising calmness, Daryl bent to unlace his sneakers. "Here. Use the laces until you can get some cuffs!" He pulled one shoestring loose and began on the other.

Blair glared down at Andrei, his blue eyes as cold as a frozen sea. "Turn over on your belly and put your hands behind your back," he snapped. As the man struggled to obey, Blair added, "Can one of you tie him?"

"I'll do it." Frank stepped forward, careful not to get between Sandburg and Marchlewicz, and secured the man's hands as well as he could with Daryl's shoe laces.

Just as he completed the task, an ambulance screamed up the street, pulling to a stop in front of the apartment building. Close behind it, a police cruiser braked beside the little group in the middle of the street.

"Sandburg! What've you got?" Two uniformed officers leaped from the car, guns drawn.

"Cuff him and take him," Blair snapped, shoving his pistol into the holster and stepping back to give them access. "That's Andrei Marchlewicz, an international hit man. The one that we've been looking for."

As the officers moved to do so, Blair took in the sight of the ambulance – and Daryl and the Hardys saw the dawning horror in his eyes as he realized just who was missing. "Where's Jim?" He turned to Joe, anguish spreading across his features. "WHERE'S JIM?"

"Andrei shot him—" Joe whispered miserably. "But Blair, he's..."

Sandburg was already running desperately for the loft, and Joe's words went unheard.

 _A special note of thanks to Phoenix for her suggestions and advice regarding this chapter! Her 'sounding board' ability was invaluable, and jarred things loose so we could figure out what to do! Thank you, O Fiery One!_


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

The stories in the series were written in 2006 and 2007. Technology does not match today's levels. Nor does airport security!

Thank you, Sarai, for your continued support and comments.

 **Welcome to Cascade**

A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver & Talefeathers

Chapter 10

Aside from the occasional times he'd had to flee for his life, Blair Sandburg rarely used the fire escape from the loft – _or_ the back door. If he or Jim wanted exposure to the outside elements, they stood on the balcony. If they wanted access to or egress from their home, they used the front door. The fire escape was strictly for emergencies. _This_ classified as an emergency of the worst sort.

 _Andrei shot him...shot him...he shot Jim..._ Joe's words pounded in his head as fiercely as his feet pounded the pavement, with the same dull rhythm. Blair ran for the metal ladder, his whole concentration set on getting to his Sentinel as quickly as possible. He leaped and swarmed up the steps like he was going for a record on the obstacle course at the police academy. Gaining the level of his room, Sandburg plunged through the door and tore out into the main room – and for just an instant he halted, horrorstricken.

"Jim..." The whispered word was the only sound in the silent loft. Then Blair was running again, running to kneel beside the sprawled, long-legged figure of Jim Ellison, lying motionless on the floor. "Jim!"

Training and habit kicked in, and Blair reached to lay shaking fingers against Jim's carotid artery to feel for a pulse – and as he did, he caught the unmistakable rise-and-fall of his partner's chest. _He's breathing, he's alive, he's breathing, it's okay, he's breathing..._ He could feel the soft, regular beat throbbing beneath his fingertips, and he exhaled a long, shuddering breath of relief. "Thank God," he whispered. "Thank youthankyouthankyou..." Gently, he let one hand slide down until he was gripping Jim's fingers.

Now that he could take a few seconds to actually _look_ at Ellison, he felt encouraged. Although the detective's face was nearly as white as the towel wrapped around his head, it didn't have the awful gray tinge that Blair had feared. There was blood staining the other towels, the ones packed about his left shoulder, but the makeshift bandage on his head was not yet soaked through.

 _Thank God for Joe...if he hadn't been here to call – and do a quick bandage job..._ Blair's hand tightened on his partner's. "Hang on, buddy; help's on the way. Just hang on."

Voices and thumps at the half-open front door alerted him to the arrival of the paramedics, who had had to maneuver up the stairs, since they hadn't wanted to risk getting stuck in the elevator. "Detective Sandburg?" A dark-haired EMT poked his head around the door.

"Right here," Blair managed to answer. "Hurry up!" Reluctantly, he backed away a few feet as the paramedics converged on his partner.

###

Joe stared in chagrin after Blair as he raced frantically toward the loft. "He didn't let me finish!"

"Did you say Jim was shot?" Daryl seized the younger Hardy's shoulder and shook it. "Jim's shot?"

"Yeah, but – but he's not DEAD!" Joe tried to explain. He glared down at Andrew Martin, who was being cuffed and read his rights. One of the officers had gotten a first-aid kit from the car, and was wrapping a bandage about the bleeding wound in Martin's thigh. "Not for your lack of trying, you creep!"

The assassin merely snarled something in a foreign language. The boys didn't know if it was Russian, Polish, or something else entirely, and didn't really care. They had more important things on their minds than Andrei Marchlewicz.

"Let's go back to the loft," Frank urged, tugging on Joe's arm. "I want to know how Jim is!"

"Down with that!" Daryl concurred. He glanced at the police officers. "It's okay...isn't it?"

"Yeah, go ahead; tell Detective Sandburg we've got this covered," was the answer. "We're calling another rig to pick up this guy. Hope Ellison's okay!"

"You and me both," Frank muttered, and led the way.

They were about to enter the building – by the front door, rather than climbing up the fire escape ladder – when the yelp of another siren alerted them to a new arrival. Simon Banks' gold Crown Vic careened around the corner and jerked to a stop. The captain shut off the siren and the engine, but left his flashing lights on as he leaped out of the car.

"DAD!" Daryl ran towards his father _. I haven't hugged Dad this much since my graduation!_

"Daryl! Thank God you're okay!" Banks caught his son against himself in a tight embrace. "When I heard the call come in for here—" He looked around. "Where are Ellison and Sandburg? And did Martin...?" He stopped, seeing the uniformed officers and their prisoner down the block. "They GOT him?!"

"Yes, sir." The Hardys had joined Daryl and his father; it was Frank who spoke. "Blair shot him – right before he could shoot us."

Banks sighed heavily, and put an arm about the elder Hardy's shoulders. "I'm glad you're all right." He looked around again, seeking his detective team. "Where is Sandburg, anyway? Where's Jim?" he asked again.

"Upstairs," Joe said softly. "They're upstairs. He – Blair, that is – he went up because...Jim was...Jim is...Andrei shot—"

"Oh no." The police captain stared at him in horror. "Ellison's hurt?"

Joe nodded. "Andrei got into the apartment," he explained. "He and Jim fought – Jim yelled at us to get out..."

"We went down the fire escape," Daryl put in.

"How badly is he hurt?" Simon demanded.

"He was hit twice," Joe said soberly. "Shoulder and head—"

"Dear GOD!" the captain groaned. Frank and Daryl, who had been unaware of the details as well, both gasped in shock.

"Joe, are you sure he's – are you sure he isn't..." Frank faltered.

Before his brother could answer, a small commotion drew their attention. Two paramedics were maneuvering a stretcher through the door. Close behind it was Blair Sandburg, his eyes fixed on the stretcher and its burden.

"Sandburg – Blair!" Simon Banks moved to his youngest detective's side, at the same time looking down at Ellison. Jim appeared to be unconscious still, his head was bandaged, and his shoulder swathed in gauze, but he was breathing easily, and his color was good. An IV drip was inserted into the back of his hand.

Blair looked up, registering the presence of Simon and the three boys. His eyes were slightly damp, and wide with distress, but he managed to summon a smile – a tremulous smile, to be sure, but still, a smile. "I think he'll be okay, Simon," he said softly. "He took a bullet in his shoulder, but they don't think it hit anything vital. And the other one just clipped the side of his head."

There were four simultaneous sighs of relief from his hearers.

"Go with him to the hospital," Banks urged now. "The kids and I will secure the apartment and follow in my car. All right?"

"Thanks, Captain – 'preciate it." Blair moved after the stretcher as the EMTs started towards the ambulance again. The watching four saw him reach for Ellison's hand as he caught up.

"Let's go," Simon said gruffly, once the ambulance had roared away – for gruffness was the only way he could disguise the traitorous tightening in his throat and his stinging eyes. "Let's make sure everything's okay upstairs."

###

Everything was not okay – things were a shambles. Jim and Andrei's fight had knocked over the key-basket table and the chair next to the door, which stood halfway open. Two pizza boxes, miraculously unopened, lay on the floor nearer the kitchen. Large puddles of blood were drying stickily on the hardwood flooring. Bloodstained towels were piled in a heap, discarded when the EMTs had replaced them with bandages..

"Jim's gonna have a cat-fit over that floor," Simon muttered, and bent to mop up the bloodstains with the towels. "He's persnickety about anything on his hardwood. Daryl, wet this down." He handed his son one of the towels.

Joe set the table and chair to rights. As he did so, he quietly slid Jim's gun from his pocket and set it next to the key basket. He'd have to explain sometime, he supposed, but not now. Frank picked up the pizza boxes. "These are still warm," the elder Hardy marveled. "And nothing's wrong with them! The boxes didn't even come open!"

Simon looked at him, amusement glinting in his sharp brown eyes. "Bring them along," he suggested. "We'll probably have a long wait in the ER. Might as well have dinner."

"I wonder if the pop's still in the street," Daryl mused. "Blair dropped the box..."

"We'll check when we leave," his father assured him.

Frank found a piece of cardboard and taped it over the bullet hole in the glass door. Joe closed and locked the fire escape door. When he emerged from Blair's room, he was lugging his and Frank's duffle bags.

"I guess we probably aren't staying here tonight," he said tentatively. The others looked at him in confusion, then Captain Banks nodded.

"If you don't mind staying at a house with the front window boarded up, why don't you figure on coming back over to my place?" the captain offered. "Sandburg's not going to be back here tonight, that's for certain. And although there's no reason you couldn't stay by yourselves..."

"I think we'd like to go back to Daryl's," Frank spoke for both brothers. "It doesn't feel right to stay here without either Blair or Jim."

"Yeah," Daryl nodded, and went to gather up his things.

"I've never moved so much in such a short time," Joe sighed. "I haven't even unpacked once yet!"

They turned out the lights, and shut and locked the door. They walked down the flights of stairs and went out into the warm, still-light evening.

"Captain Banks..." Frank said softly, as they exited the apartment building.

"Hmmm?"

"I feel like – well, I know it isn't, really, but..." Frank hesitated, trying to form coherent words out of his jumbled thoughts.

"What is it?" Banks asked.

"I feel like we brought you all this trouble, somehow. Andrew Martin sat next to us on the plane here, after all...and we took the pictures of him, which is why he went after us, and Daryl...It feels like our fault..." he said guiltily.

Simon chuckled grimly. "You couldn't exactly help who else was on that flight, you know. It was simply a coincidence. And if you hadn't taken those pictures, we'd have had to spend a whole lot more time trying to figure out who our sniper was. I know you feel odd about it – and this last bit, with Ellison, well, that's very unfortunate. But it was NOT your fault. Look at it this way – if Martin hadn't switched his attention to you boys, he'd have been concentrating on Thor...and we might have had a successful assassination attempt AND had injured police officers."

Frank sighed. "I suppose so," he conceded, and climbed into Banks' car beside his brother.

#####

When they arrived at Cascade General Hospital, Jim had already been taken in for assessment and treatment – and Blair had gone with him; an unlikely event that surprised the Hardys, but Simon and Daryl just smiled knowingly.

"The doctors here know those two," the police captain informed them. "They've stopped trying to separate them in situations like this. Jim's got some drug sensitivities, and if Sandburg's not allowed to be with him and make sure he's not given something he shouldn't be, he goes nuts in the waiting room and drives the staff crazy. So they let him in – usually."

They settled down in the waiting room. They'd brought in the boxes of pizza and the carton of Coke which had – surprisingly – still been sitting in the street when they drove by, but as yet didn't open either. There was still too much tension for any of the four to be actively hungry.

Blair joined them after about 45 minutes, looking tired and tense, but not overly worried. He sank into a nearby chair with a sigh.

"They're taking him to surgery to patch up the bullet hole in his shoulder," he said. "X-rays showed the head wound was just a gouge through the skin. Lots of blood, no serious damage. Well, concussion from the impact." He looked at the magazine table and a surprised grin creased his features. "You brought the pizza and pop?"

"Uh-huh," Joe said. "We didn't want them to go to waste..." He was suddenly afraid that the young detective would be affronted by their seeming lack of concern over his partner, but Blair's smile allayed his fears.

"They won't," Sandburg said, and leaned forward to open one of the boxes. "I'm starving." After taking an enormous bite, he added, "Aren't you guys going to eat?"

That was all it took for Simon and the boys to decide they were hungry as well, and for a few minutes there was no conversation, merely the sounds of chewing and swallowing.

"Did Jim regain consciousness?" the captain asked, after his first hunger was assuaged.

Blair nodded. "Just for a minute or two. He knew who he was, knew who I was, sort of remembered what happened, and asked what happened with Andrei," he smiled. "and if you guys were okay. Blessed Protector," he added under his breath, with a tiny headshake. "He won't remember when he wakes up later, though."

Banks shook his head too. "More luck than sense," he muttered – and reached for another slice of pizza.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: We do not own the Hardy Boys or any of the canon book characters, nor do we own the Sentinel or any of the canon television characters, and are making no monies from this story. Any Original Characters belong to the author(s). Co-written with Talefeathers of the HDA.

For those of you who are not familiar with _The Sentinel's_ characters, we hope this will be a pleasant introduction to them for you. For those of you who are already acquainted with Blair, Jim, Simon and the others – enjoy! Trying to fit these four stories into two different story arcs [Hardy Boys and The Sentinel] just barely worked. _Band of Brothers_ and _Welcome to Cascade_ take place before _September Song_ [Hardy universe] begins, and any time after _The Perfect Partner_ [Sentinel universe]. _Missing Persons_ happens right after _Fanfare for June_ [Hardys]; _A Matter of Public Record_ takes place any time between _Death on the Fourth of July_ and _February Flirtations_ [Hardys], and before _Remodel and Rebuild_ [Sentinel].

The stories in the series were written in 2006 and 2007. Technology does not match today's levels. Nor does airport security!

Thank you, Sarai, for your continued support and comments.

 **Welcome to Cascade**

A Sentinel/Hardy Boys Crossover Story

By EvergreenDreamweaver and Talefeathers

Chapter 11

"Wha' time...zit?" The Sentinel's slurred syllables were music to Blair Sandburg's ears. He'd been slouched in the bedside chair, waiting for longer than he cared to think about, to hear them – or something like them.

"It's about two a.m. How are you feeling?"

"Chief...?"

"It's me, buddy. How are you feeling?" Blair repeated, leaning a little closer and curling his hand about Ellison's.

"F-fuzzy."

"Whatever they gave you to knock you out really worked. I thought you'd be awake long before now."

"Hos...pital?"

Sandburg smiled. It was rare to see Jim so groggy; usually he woke up from anesthesia grouchy as all get-out, but pretty focused. This time he didn't seem cranky, but boy, was he out of it! It must be from the concussion on top of the anesthetic. "Yeah, Jim. You're in the hospital. You were shot. But you're going to be fine, just fine. You just need to rest for a few days, before you can go home. Do you remember what happened?" He didn't expect a positive answer to that one, but Jim sometimes had amazing recall.

Ellison was silent for a few moments, evidently searching through his memory. "Martin," he breathed, at last. "Loft." Suddenly his eyes flew open wide. "Daryl? Th' Hardy kids?" An abortive attempt to sit up made him flinch, and grunt with pain.

"Oh, you are so not going to try that again!" Blair was on his feet now, leaning over the bed rail and holding his partner down against the flat pillow. "You have to lie still, Jim, hear me?"

"Mmm-hmmm," Jim meekly agreed. "Lie still...I c'n do that. But – Daryl? Joe 'n' Frank?"

"They're fine. They went home with Simon a while ago, to get some sleep."

"Oh...okay." Ellison subsided and closed his eyes, but they abruptly flew open again. "Martin?" he asked anxiously.

"In custody – here in the hospital," Blair said grimly. "Courtesy of me and my trusty Sig-Sauer."

A slight smile wafted across the Sentinel's pale face. "Good f'r you."

"Any time," his Guide said. "Now, can you tell me where your dials are?"

Jim concentrated again, his brow furrowing under the bandage wrapped about his head. "Ever'thing's up high. Sev'ns...eights," he murmured at last.

"Let's do something about that. Concentrate on my voice, Jim. Let everything else go. Picture just one dial – for pain. You want to turn it down to three or four, right? It's at seven? Eight?"

"N-nine."

"Then start turning it down, one notch at a time. Nine...eight...seven...six – is it working? Yeah, good. Six...five...four. How's that?

"Better. Lot better." Ellison's features had lost their strained, tense cast. "Chief? You needta...go home. Rest...Please."

Blair smiled to himself. _Blessed Protector – always my Blessed Protector, even when he's the one in the hospital bed..._ "After awhile I will. Now, the dial. Take it down one more, to three," he advised, and watched his partner's face relax even more. "Got it? Good. Let that one stay there. Now let's work on hearing..."

#####

"This is so awesome! I can't believe we're actually here!" Daryl Banks' face was nearly incandescent with joy as he gazed down at the concert stage in the Cascade Civic Auditorium. "Tickets to the concert, maybe – I could almost believe that – but this? Getting to be backstage all afternoon, and helping with setup? No WAY!"

Frank Hardy chuckled at his friend's enthusiasm. As he'd told Simon Banks, he and Joe had worked concert security before, but never for a group quite as big-name as Valhalla. Their setup, run-through in lieu of a dress rehearsal, sound checks – everything was done crisply and professionally, with little goofing off or messing around, although when they were done, the band members immediately reverted to the playful near-kids they'd been at the hotel.

Thor had thanked the Hardys and Daryl profusely for their part in apprehending Andrei Marchlewicz, and all of them had signed autographs on anything and everything the three boys offered. They also presented them with shirts which read 'Valhalla Staff.' _Those_ shirts weren't for sale to the general public; if you weren't on staff to Valhalla, you did _not_ have one of those shirts. The Hardys and Daryl Banks had put them on immediately, and worn them with pride.

Now it was half an hour until concert time, and they were busy, for ticket-holders had been let into the building thirty minutes before, and were milling about in the lobby, buying programs, Valhalla CDs and posters, shirts and hats and visors, pictures of white baby seals with huge dark eyes...you name it, Valhalla was marketing it.

Daryl, admitting he knew next to nothing about security, shadowed Frank. He might not know exactly what he was supposed to be doing, but he figured he could provide backup for the elder Hardy. Mostly they were patrolling the entrances to the auditorium itself and helping people find their seats; there were professional security teams and Simon Banks' crew from Major Crimes handling the outer doors. Andrei Marchlewicz might be in custody, but they were taking no chances. He might have had an accomplice. He might have had backup. He might have been replaced, by whoever had hired him in the first place. Better to be on the safe side.

Joe drifted near his brother and friend in a momentary lull. "Heard how Jim's doing?" he inquired of Daryl. They had stopped by the hospital earlier in the day, but Ellison had been asleep at the time, and Blair had – surprisingly – been away from his partner's side. A nurse told them that Detective Sandburg had reluctantly gone home to take a nap, but she expected him back after lunch. Unfortunately, the boys had needed to be at the auditorium after lunch, so they'd missed seeing either of the detectives.

"Yeah. Dad was there this afternoon. He said Jim was awake for a little while – and that Blair didn't look worried, which is a better way of measuring how Jim is anyway," Daryl laughed. "Apparently there's talk of sending him home tomorrow evening, if everything keeps on going well. We can visit him tomorrow, or wait until he's home. After all, you're going to be here until the end of next week!"

"Man, that is such good news!" Frank sighed. "I still feel guilty about him ending up in the hospital."

"He spends a lot of time there," Daryl said, his eyes twinkling. "He and Blair practically have reserved rooms. So don't blame yourself, Frank. He'd have probably ended up there anyhow."

"Sounds like Joe," the elder Hardy opined.

"Hey! Like you have room to talk!" Joe bristled. "I'm not in the hospital all that much!"

Before their argument could escalate further, one of the members of Valhalla's vast entourage scurried up to them. "There you are! Thor wondered if you two would like to do stage security during the concert," the young man said. "You'd be watching from the sides, mostly – ready to move out and intercept, if any fans try to get up on the stage with the band."

"Sure, sounds great!" Both Hardys nodded eager acceptance. They wouldn't get the whole front-view effect of the presentation that way, but they'd practically be onstage themselves!

"I'm going to go find my seat," Daryl grinned, pulling his fifth-row, center-section ticket from his pocket. "I'll catch you guys after the show!"

#####

"Getting tired? Want to sleep for awhile?" Blair queried anxiously, as Jim apathetically pushed away his dinner tray and reached for the button to lower the head of his bed.

"No...don't want to sleep. Just don't want any more of...that." Ellison eyed the contents of the tray with revulsion.

"It does look kinda unappetizing, doesn't it?" Blair surveyed his partner's meal dubiously.

"Next time you come, bring me something better to eat, huh?" the Sentinel pleaded.

"I won't need to," Sandburg said with a smile. "You'll be going home tomorrow anyway, if you behave yourself."

"There's still breakfast and lunch," Jim reminded him gloomily. "Are you going to let me starve, Sandburg?"

"Oh, my poor widdle starving Sentinel!"

Jim stared at him with as much warmth as he had previously given his dinner tray. "You are headed straight for hell, Sandburg," he growled.

Blair relented. "I'll see about bringing something for lunch, how's that? The sorts of things you want for breakfast wouldn't be good for you just yet."

Ellison was disappointed, but made the best of it. "I guess lunch is better than nothing." He brightened. "And I'll be home for dinner, right?"

"Very probably." Blair settled down in the chair at Jim's bedside and looked around the room. Although Jim had been in residence less than 24 hours, the place looked like a florist shop. Thor and the rest of Valhalla had sent so many flower arrangements of such enormous proportions that Jim had to keep his sense of smell dialed to a minimum, to avoid being overwhelmed by the fragrance of the flowers. They'd decided to take a couple of the arrangements home, but figured on donating the rest to other patients, when Jim checked out of the hospital.

"Did you ever get your chance to study Joe Hardy?" Jim asked now, surprising Blair no end. He'd resigned himself to the idea that Jim was going to avoid the whole topic forever. "Since I haven't been around to stop you?"

"That's 'observe,' Jim. Not study. Observe. And yes, I did. Both of them, yesterday when we were at the loft."

Ellison snorted a little. "Right. You only studied ME. Everybody else, you 'observe.' I can tell you right now that Frank's no Sentinel, Chief. I'd know, if he was." Bitter memories of Alex Barnes made him grimace guiltily. "You know I would."

"I agree," Blair concurred. "He's not. And as for Joe...well, I think Joe's the guide equivalent of those people with one or two enhanced senses I told you about when we first met. He's got just a touch of ability, that's all."

"Nothing like the real thing," Jim said quietly, and held out his hand to link his fingers with his partner's. "And you won't pester them, right?"

Blair, who was softly singing _'Ain't nothin' like the real thing, baby,'_ grinned. "I promise, I won't bother either of them any more! Subject closed. Okay?"

"Okay." Jim let his head roll gently to the side, and he stared moodily out the window. "I wonder how the concert is going?"

"Man, you didn't really want to see it...did you?" Blair marveled, surprised at Jim's wistful tone.

"I dunno...I sort of got used to their music when the kids kept playing that CD. It might have been kind of fun to see it live, Chief, that's all."

#####

To say that Valhalla's concert was a howling success would have been putting it mildly. The publicity they'd gotten from the fundraising reception – with the added fillip of an attempted assassination – had ensured that everyone in Cascade was aware that Thor and Valhalla were in town, and concert tickets had sold out within 90 minutes of the box-office opening.

And they aimed to please. Unlike some performers who used concerts to promote new material, Valhalla knew what their public wanted: the hits that had made them famous. They did them all, occasionally tossing in something new, but always reverting to the familiar music that the crowd knew and loved.

Frank and Joe watched from the wings, one on each side of the stage. They were close enough to hear the jokes cracked among the band members between numbers, to see the momentary panic on Mik Leinonen's face when one of his drumsticks snapped in half in the middle of a song. Close enough to get the full effect of costumes decorated with glittering sequins on velvet – and to crack up along with the others, when Loki's emerald-velvet jumpsuit started to split up the back seam after one particularly energetic leap. Undaunted, Loki merely faced the audience through the rest of the number, and made a quick exit-and-return, wearing a backup costume, when it finished.

Close enough to see the adoration in the eyes of the screaming teenagers – and older fans as well – both females and males, who surged as close to the stage as possible – which made the Hardys tense in anticipation of someone trying to climb up. But to their relief, no one did.

Finally, the last set was done – and everyone in the audience was well aware that one particular song had not been performed. A ripple of subdued excitement went through the crowd as Thor stepped to the microphone once again, the stage lights dimmed, and one spotlight focused on him. He spoke into the microphone, backed by a few soft notes from Sigurd's guitar:

"As you may know, our visit to Cascade has been a little unusual, even for us. We have some special thanks to extend to people who did their jobs and more, to keep us safe while we were here; two people in particular. Unfortunately, they aren't able to be here tonight. Detective Ellison of the Cascade Police Department was injured during the apprehension of a man who tried to assassinate me and several others, and he is currently hospitalized while he recovers from those injuries. Although this was originally written to illustrate how we ought to care for the little seals, it seemed to all of us—" he gestured to include the members of Valhalla, "that Detective Ellison and his partner, Detective Sandburg, were perfect examples of what a protector is... It is to them that we wish to dedicate this final song."

Thor stepped back, removing the microphone from its stand so he could move about the stage. The spots widened, revealing the rest of Valhalla, and the well-known introductory notes of Thor's signature song "Protect You," welled up.

" _We'll protect you...keep you from harm..._

 _Our eyes forever watching over you..."_

The crowd was hushed, swaying along with the music, and many faces were wet with tears by the time the ballad came to an end.

###

"I've never seen anything like that, Frank! Thor had practically the whole audience in tears!"

"I know. Amazing, wasn't it? And look at this! Talk about a well-oiled machine! These guys sure know how to tear down and pack, don't they?"

Frank and Joe leaned against a wall backstage, watching the stagehands as they swiftly worked on striking the sets, packing the musical instruments and speakers – removing all traces of Thor and Valhalla. The band was moving on, leaving to board their charter jet directly from the auditorium, to travel to the next stop on their tour. There was no longer any need for the Hardys' services; they'd said their goodbyes, and were merely making this experience last as long as possible. Daryl was waiting for them in the lobby, along with his father.

"I'm sorry to see it end – but it was kinda tiring," Joe admitted with a chuckle. "Now maybe we can have a nice, peaceful rest of our vacation here!"

"I sure hope so." Frank straightened up, moving away from the wall reluctantly. "I guess we'd better go – Captain Banks has been awfully patient about this."

They were walking up the aisle towards the lobby exit doors when a voice hailed them from the stage.

"Frank! Joe! Wait a minute!"

It was Mikhael Leinonen, the drummer. No longer clad in his sequin-and-rhinestone-studded velvet jumpsuit, Mik looked once more like the young man they'd met in the hotel suite. He was waving a small rectangular box in one hand as he leaped down the stage steps and hurried up the aisle.

"The techs always record the concerts—" he panted, "and we asked for an extra copy. We'd like – if you could be so kind as to give it – we'd like Detective Sandburg and Detective Ellison to have it." He extended the box to Frank, who saw that it was, indeed, a video tape.

Frank smiled. He had a feeling that this gift was going to make at least _one_ of those detectives very happy...and the other might not mind too much, either!

"We'll see they get it, Mik. Thank you – and thank the rest of the guys, too."

"MIK! Kjetil says to get a move on – the limo's here, and if you're not in it in three minutes, you're hitching to the airport!" Nils – or Loki – also now wearing jeans and t-shirt, beckoned frantically from the stage. "Come ON!"

With a quick, bright smile for the Hardy brothers, Mik Leinonen turned and sprinted for the stage. Loki waved and disappeared into the wings.

Joe and Frank exited the auditorium, the precious concert tape held tightly in Frank's hand.

#####

The phone buzzed on the polished desk and was once again picked up on the first ring.

" _It seems our man has failed...abominably."_

" _So I gather from the report. Caught by a city detective and some teenagers. What a humiliating end to what was an illustrious career!"_

" _Well...what shall we do? Send someone else to intercept Valhalla in another city?"_

" _No...at this point we'd be throwing bad money after good. Let Thor beg for his money and play with his seals. Perhaps one will bite him, and he'll become disenchanted with them. It's not worth pursuing any longer."_

The phone receiver was quietly replaced, and lights were extinguished as the office was vacated.

The End

 _For anyone who wished we could illustrate this story with pictures of the members of Valhalla, you can at least imagine Kjetil [Thor]. Just look at pictures of those elves in The Lord of the Rings movies with their long blonde hair and handsome faces, and you have a good idea of what Kjetil looks like._

 _The next story in the series is "Missing Persons"._


End file.
